by Darry Fraser
‘But a woman cannot possibly survive on her own without a man to—’
James cut him short. ‘Not lawfully, anyway. Even if she does, on only the presumption she is surviving unlawfully, she will meet the wrath of the law. And her children are awarded to the husband, who most probably bashes them too. Sometimes they’re awarded to the state. And I don’t know which is worse.’ He clicked the reins. ‘I’ve seen it all.’
Ard’s head was foggy. ‘This is a whole different world for me. So how was CeeCee able to—’
‘Independence, by way of her father’s diligence. It seemed he had secreted his wealth earned on the gold fields and had taught his eldest child, Cecilia Celeste, to be wise and frugal.’
Ard waved his hand towards an upcoming gate and James slowed the horse to make a turn. ‘That the law even allows her to carry on this work—’
‘Indeed. The law, and society.’ James tilted his head.
‘And afterwards, did you continue in law?’
‘I did, for a while. Now, I no longer practise.’ He glanced at Ard. ‘I had to spend some long years helping to build the railway to Swan Hill.’
Ard looked sideways at James.
‘Let’s say I took the law into my own hands at one point and uh, needed a distraction from my indiscretion.’ Anderson stretched his fingers holding the reins.
Ard noted the knotted knuckles. A bent ring finger.
James continued. ‘But back to the main tale. I was enamoured of CeeCee from that very first meeting and I championed her with my knowledge of law, and still do. My father and mother in Melbourne are also her champions, though from a discreet distance. She has bought herself respectability. It’s the only way at present. Society is very slow to advance and the law is even slower.’
‘Your parents must be very …’ Ard couldn’t find the right words. ‘New world, new order?’
James looked at Ard with a glint in his eye. ‘If you knew my mother.’
Ard’s laugh burst out. ‘And mine. My father credits her with my upbringing, me and my sister.’
‘She’s done a good job. You are well spoken, Ard.’
‘I have my letters. I went to school, but mostly I read and write thanks to my ma.’
‘Ah, education. CeeCee believes therein lies the answer to all this.’ James nodded at Ard. ‘But I don’t know. How do you educate thugs? I think there is only one way.’
Ard felt he was in over his head. He needed time to sift through this new knowledge, this advancing of ideas.
James went on. ‘My mother is all for the vote for women.’
‘Mine, too,’ Ard said. ‘But my father draws the line at them entering the parliament.’
James scoffed. ‘Not frightened he’ll lose his privileges like some would think?’
Ard was startled by that. ‘Not by a long shot. He reckons women wouldn’t stoop to entering parliament. And either way, he says, “if a man has to go fishing, a man has to go fishing. Ain’t no one going to stop me”. Don’t reckon he was bothered by losing any privileges.’
‘He might be right. Women will vote in South Australia next election. I don’t see any mention there of fishing coming to a halt.’
Ard laughed at that. ‘My mother, she casts a line herself.’
‘Aha!’ James looked at Ard. ‘Interesting we met, don’t you think? Interesting our folk think alike.’
Ard wondered about that. Clearly, James Anderson’s family’s circumstances were vastly different to his own, yet here they were, relating similar ideals.
The horse and carriage had taken a full turn and now faced back the way it had come.
Ard pointed at the stone cottage to the left in the near distance. ‘Home.’ He held out his hand and James gripped it. ‘Thank you. If I was able to offer hospitality, I would. I’ve naught but water from the channel well.’ He dusted himself off and felt a rush of heat burn his face.
I have naught but water …
James tugged on the reins and turned the horse through the gate. ‘Sounds good to me on this fine morning. Let me see what enterprise you have here.’
Seventeen
Echuca
James had organised Mr Jenkins, his sometime employee and carriage driver in Echuca, to meet Linley and CeeCee at the station to take them to the house. As he drove, Mr Jenkins informed them that a Mrs Rutherford would be around directly. For the baby, he added.
Linley sat in the sparsely furnished front room of their new house as Mrs Rutherford nursed Toby. Fascinated yet uneasy, she couldn’t work out whether to stare at the full, bare breast with its engorged nipple thrust into the baby’s mouth and the clutching little hands, or stare at Mrs Rutherford’s face, and hope to make intelligent conversation.
Now Mrs Rutherford, her youthful features serene despite a slight frown, appeared to be in a world of her own.
If only it were me feeding Ard’s baby.
Linley’s own needy longing confused her. She sat quietly, allowing the hot rush of embarrassment to subside. She was glad no one could see her innermost yearnings. Mrs Rutherford rocked back and forth as the baby suckled. Both were oblivious to Linley, and a pang of jealousy stung as she grappled with her tilt at motherhood.
She let her mind drift. She should go and check on CeeCee. Her aunt had taken to her room the moment they’d arrived at the little house. A cool damp cloth and a tumbler of drinking water was all she said she required. As soon as Mrs Rutherford was done, Linley would ask her for the name of a doctor and visit his rooms to request a house call.
The baby popped off the breast and snuffled and gurgled until Mrs Rutherford changed him from one side to the other, tucking one large breast under her bodice and presenting the other for the baby. He latched on greedily.
‘Hungry little one,’ Mrs Rutherford said, her toothy smile relaxed, her eyes half closed as she continued her rocking. Her hair, the colour of butterscotch, was parted in the middle and pulled into a bun at the back of her head.
‘I don’t know if I fed him enough tinned milk,’ Linley offered.
‘I’ll help you with how much when we’re finished here. ’Tis a shame you can’t feed him yourself, Mrs O’Rourke.’ She leaned back in the chair.
A burning rush of heat prickled across Linley’s face. ‘Mm.’
The woman smoothed a hand over Toby’s fluffy little head and rocked some more. ‘But he’s a bonny boy, and I can see he’s much loved.’
The pang of jealousy spiralled all the way to Linley’s middle where its sting softened, and a warm glow replaced it. Her belly felt heavy and happy, and a peculiar anticipation threaded though it.
What are these feelings?
She squirmed in her seat and unable to sit any longer, rose quickly. ‘I will check on my aunt and be back shortly.’
Mrs Rutherford looked up. ‘We’ll be about ten minutes more.’
Linley nodded and fled the room. She opened the door to CeeCee’s room to see her aunt dangling a cloth over her eyes.
‘Let me help,’ she said and crossed to the bed.
‘I think I’m quite fine, Lin. I must look worse than I feel. My head has cleared, and this cool rag has lightened the load on my eyes.’
Linley took the cloth and pressed it gently on her aunt’s face. ‘I will go for a doctor as soon as Toby is bedded down.’
CeeCee nodded wearily. ‘I think that is a good idea, just to be safe.’ She leaned back against the pillows.
Linley took a start. CeeCee agreeing to see a doctor was grave. Her heartbeat sped. ‘Oh dear. A new town, new people. Two women on their own with a baby who needs nursing …’
Her aunt was looking at her. ‘Linley, this all requires calm and measured thinking. We do not get into a tizz. Do you understand me?’
Linley huffed out a breath. ‘Yes, Aunt.’
‘Drop your shoulders and straighten up, and take some deep breaths.’
Linley complied. ‘How will we …?’
‘As we always have done, Linley. We
discuss it, then we implement it.’ CeeCee took a deep, careful breath. ‘We will need some bread and some meat, milk and eggs. So you will have to go to the town when Mrs Rutherford is finished. Perhaps you could walk down with her.’
‘Yes, Aunty. But you—’
‘I am quite well now we are out of that infernal iron claptrap. A sleeping draught would be good if you would spare the time to fetch it for me.’
Linley rose to her aunt’s bag by the bed, rummaging a bit before she came up with the packet of powders. There wasn’t a pitcher of water yet, so she left her aunt in search of a container.
She found an earthenware jug, then the pump, and splashed water into it. She swilled it and turfed it out onto the dusty patch of ground that served as a frontage to the property before she refilled it. When she ducked back inside she saw Mrs Rutherford laying Toby into the borrowed crib.
‘I’ll be right back, Mrs Rutherford.’
CeeCee had nodded off again, so she filled a tumbler and left the pitcher of water. Assured Toby would be well enough for thirty minutes, Linley, a carry basket on her arm, accompanied Mrs Rutherford back to her house.
‘Not my house, Mrs O’Rourke. It’s the house Mr Anderson provides for us.’ Mrs Rutherford set a good pace as she headed home. ‘Don’t know where me and mine would be without him. You are very lucky to have him in the family. There’s not too many like him, to help women like me.’
‘And you help women like—like me, Mrs Rutherford.’ Linley skipped a little to keep up with her. ‘How is it you know Mr Anderson?’
‘It were through Mrs Anderson.’ Mrs Rutherford set her lips and Linley immediately felt she’d overstepped the mark. But then she continued. ‘I was down on me luck, beaten in the face by the back of a hand, and clobbered by a four by two after that. I crawled to a hospital near where I was in the city, one little one under me arm, the other still in me belly. It’s him I’m feeding along with your Toby.’ She hastened her step. ‘I must’ve fainted dead away, and when I woke up, there was an angel of a lady holding my Jane. Seems the lady was Mr James’ mama, and Miss CeeCee was there too, shouting at one of the doctors.’
Linley’s mouth dropped open. ‘Oh my lord, I am sorry you had to go—’
‘Don’t say it, Mrs O’Rourke, though it well meant, I know. We want none of that at this house.’ Mrs Rutherford straightened her shoulders as she walked, a brisk determined step to match her tone. ‘I work for Mr Anderson, and Mrs Anderson—’ She jabbed a thumb over her shoulder back towards the house they’d left, ‘—when she’s in town, bless her.’
Linley remembered odd times when CeeCee travelled to Echuca and to Melbourne with her in tow. It seemed a very clandestine affair, but very adventurous nonetheless.
Now disconcerting. She was sure there must have been a great many other women helped by CeeCee and James. More than she could remember. She listened as Mrs Rutherford continued.
‘I remember hiding in a carriage coming out of North Melbourne,’ Mrs Rutherford said. ‘Though it were Hotham when I was growing up. My little one was tucked in alongside me, too scared to speak, or cry. We’d been hid by Mr Anderson at this house somewhere, once I were discharged, and then along came this carriage. He told us to get in.’ She blew out between thin lips. ‘We rattled in that old claptrap until Woodend, got to the train station. We were terrified someone would stop us. Me husband, for one. But that didn’t happen. Mrs Anderson was there, waiting. She must have come up before us. I never been so glad to see a lady in all me days. She sat with us all the way to Echuca here on that train. Bravest woman I know.’
A lump in Linley’s throat choked her, and a sob escaped. They were all brave, these women and children.
‘Then when the time came for me baby, she was back. Came up from Bendigo. Stayed with me until I was birthed of him. That were William.’
Linley couldn’t remember what time that would have been. There were many times she and CeeCee travelled, and many women and children. It was the norm for Linley. Not many memories stood out. The last time was not even six months ago. They had booked rooms at a boarding house, a quiet place somewhere. Perhaps that time was for this woman and her baby.
Mrs Rutherford directed her march into a street on their right and the second house along, neat, sparse and clean, was where they stopped.
‘We only want our dignity and this here is how we get it. When we find work, we help make room for others in trouble.’
‘But people don’t find work easily.’
Mrs Rutherford stared at her. ‘No. ’Specially women like us.’ She turned and took the front steps, then turned back. ‘And women like us are just women put out by men who’re tired of them. Or too lazy to work for them and the children. Or too drunk. I was lucky he didn’t get hold of me children, for sure as anything, I’da lost them to the Destitute.’
Linley’s heart dropped. Oh dear God, if she lost Toby—
‘Then there’s women who like to be lost and on the streets, if you get my drift. But that ain’t us, Mrs O’Rourke.’
‘No, it isn’t,’ Linley said. ‘You’re not lost.’
Mrs Rutherford softened then and rapped a couple of knocks on the door. It swung open as she replied, ‘Thanks to Mrs Anderson, your aunty.’ She nodded at the woman who answered the door. ‘Mrs Cooke, this is Mrs O’Rourke who’s stayin’ with Mrs Anderson.’
Mrs Cooke, a thin woman, had a smile missing a few teeth, and coarse pale red hair pulled back from her face. She nodded. ‘I’m Millie. And cranky old Mrs Rutherford here is Annie.’
‘I only feel old.’ Annie Rutherford beckoned Linley up the steps. ‘Now, a word of warning.’
Linley frowned but came closer.
‘There’s a house across the street, got gloomy windows. You see it? Old biddy Bailey lives there and she swears we are all fallen women. Don’t get too close to her. She’ll try to beat you.’
‘Beat—? What? Biddy Bailey, you said?’
‘She’s an old biddy. I call her that instead of calling her a bitch— I don’t want to do a good dog down. I think her real name’s Esther or something.’
Millie Cooke laughed. ‘It’s true. And she’s a nasty one, too. Has the coppers calling in on us whenever she feels like it.’
Linley burned crimson. Oh no.
‘Yes, and she calls herself a Christian.’ Mrs Rutherford dropped her chin. ‘Should be something good about her then, though she never lets on. She’s a widder. Yer wonder why her nose is always upturned. Not like she looks any different to us overly much.’
‘Reckon she’s just stupid. Most clever folk would keep their mouth shut about other folk.’ Millie stepped aside in the doorway. ‘But then, no cure for stupid,’ she said and raised her eyebrows.
Linley laughed, swore she’d remember that.
Mrs Rutherford brushed herself off. ‘She’s already looking through her window at our new friend. God knows what will happen here tomorrow. Come in, Mrs O’Rourke—’
‘Linley,’ Linley said. She glanced over her shoulder but couldn’t see Mrs Bailey.
‘We need to get your baby sorted.’
A little later, armed with information about feeding Toby in between visits from Mrs Rutherford, Linley had secured the name of a doctor from the women and was directed to his rooms. Once there, after ten minutes’ walk, his wife said he would be able to attend the next day, and that it would be a pleasure to see her aunt, Mrs Anderson, again.
From there, her directions to the general store were clear enough, and another ten-minute walk took her along High Street in the opposite direction. In her basket now was a wrap of day-old bread (she was told), six eggs, and a packet of tea. Milk would be delivered to their house early the next morning—‘so have a pail ready’—along with fresh bread and a slab of beef, which Linley hoped would cook well enough. As for vegetables, she had been spoiled for choice in Bendigo but here her basket was empty. She was told to return in a day or two.
It seemed she’d walked one e
nd of the street to the other and back again. It left her wanting to see more, especially as she glimpsed the wharf, and some odd craft towing barges stacked with wool bales. The rattle and hum and chug, the faint whoosh-whoosh of paddles and the voices at the cranes barking commands …
Another day indeed and she would walk here, perhaps with Toby if they could find a perambulator to borrow. She should ask Mrs Rutherford.
Linley headed home. She was eager to be there, to ask CeeCee a million questions and to sink into this strange new world of being Mrs O’Rourke.
Eighteen
Bendigo
Ard kicked at the dirt, his boot scuffing up the dust and bits of dried grass. ‘Doesn’t look so good now, but I might have caught it in time. Bit of water on it again, good as new.’
James looked out over the rows of fruit trees and pointed. ‘What trees are they?’
Ard looked across and with a wave of his hand said, ‘There’s apples and pears. Over this side is the citrus. Lemons, oranges and mandarins.’
‘Impressive.’
‘It has been.’
James turned. ‘You don’t sound as if your heart’s in it.’
Ard shrugged. ‘Drought’s coming again, and the Chinamen are strong in the market. My uncle has left and I don’t know he’ll be back.’
‘Your uncle?’
‘He and my father own this place. My uncle’s in Swan Hill and my parents are in Renmark. If the irrigation scheme fails there, my parents will be back.’ He looked around him, the fruit trees thirsty, the sky a relentless blue. ‘But to what? We have to think of something else. We’ve been offered a sum. It might be best to leave.’
James considered that. ‘Perhaps. What did you have in mind?’
‘I like the river. The Murray. The trade. The future’s there.’
James shook his head. ‘Not with the rail gone through now. Talk is trade is on the wane. Lots of boats are left where they moor, or founder. Men walking away.’
Ard nodded. ‘Trade on the river, yes. But if we irrigate, the land can grow anything. Fruit, vegetables. I even hear there’s talk of wheat being sown. Acres of it.’ Ard felt his spirits rise. Then sag again. ‘Don’t mistake me, I’ve loved it here, but there’s no future for a white man in fruit and vegetables in this area when the Chinamen do it so much better.’ He kicked the dirt again and bent down to scratch up a handful. He let the dry soil drop. ‘I’m waiting for my father’s answer to the offer. And my uncle’s.’