Where the Murray River Runs

by Darry Fraser

  Mrs Lovell hadn’t uttered a sound. She opened her bodice, leaned over and took the baby firmly. She pressed him to her breast, a pale milky liquid already seeping. He latched greedily.

  CeeCee sighed aloud. Miss Juno tapped vigorously on the carriage roof. It lurched forward.

  Mrs Lovell rocked forward and back a little in time with the carriage. ‘He’s feeding well. He’s feeding well,’ she said and closed her eyes. ‘He’s strong.’

  Linley could hardly bear to remember what the baby had looked like under the dirty fabric. His little belly button hadn’t quite dried off properly. Skin had crusted around it, and the soft baby flesh of his armpits and between his legs looked weakened and sore.

  CeeCee had gripped her arm. ‘Your work for this little mite begins. Come along, Linley, hold on to yourself. We need to get him home and cleaned up, fed some more and loved.’ CeeCee looked over and smiled at the woman with the baby at her breast. ‘We are eternally grateful, Mrs Lovell.’

  ‘These little ones are not at fault, Miss Seymour.’ Her eyes remained closed as she fed him. ‘We must give them their best chance.’

  Linley’s thoughts were a-jumble, her throat nearly closed with a lump that just wouldn’t go away. She sat by CeeCee, her aunt’s arm looped through hers.

  ‘First thing we do at home,’ CeeCee said, ‘is draw him a warm bath. Then we get a doctor.’ She turned to the woman beside her. ‘And our grateful thanks to you, Miss Juno.’

  ‘It is my pleasure to do it.’ She had nodded, given a taut smile as if she were holding on to strong emotion, folded her hands in her lap and turned away to stare out the window.

  Now Linley couldn’t imagine that same little waif was this bonny baby sleeping contentedly, far away from the hell into which he’d been born.

  Ard’s baby.

  My baby. A rush of love surged in her chest, swelled her heart. She would love this little boy fiercely until the day she died and then into the hereafter.

  She sniffed and let her hand trail off the cot. Checking that her aunt’s door was closed, she moved silently to her own room, its spartan furniture still alien and unwelcoming. Soon that would change because James would bring back other pieces, or order some more furniture to be delivered.

  Under the pillow, she withdrew Mary’s two letters and laid the opened one aside. With a deep breath, she sat on her bed and held the unopened one between her palms. Would Mary tell her how to bring up her child? What name to call him? How she was to be remembered to him?

  Linley slid a fingernail against the seal of the envelope. It opened easily, as if ready for her. She withdrew the only page inside and took a deep breath.

  My dear Miss Seymour …

  Forty-Two

  Ard stared at his uncle. ‘You have a son?’

  Liam nodded. ‘A fine man, thanks to his mother, the lady I intend to marry. In fact, it’s my son’s boat that carried me here. The Sweet Georgie.’

  Ard blinked. ‘I have a cousin. Pa know that?’

  ‘’Course he does, known for all time. But not his business to tell.’

  Ard lifted his shoulder. True enough, he supposed. ‘A cousin.’

  ‘Aye, and you could pass as brothers. He’s taller, bit leaner than you, but still clear as family. Only, he has a few years on you, maybe eight or nine.’ Liam tilted his ale back and took another swallow. ‘Dane MacHenry, he is. He has a sister too, but she’s not mine. The family has a station out of Swan Hill.’

  Ard opened his mouth but found no words.

  Liam looked across. ‘Not unheard of, boy,’ he grumbled.

  ‘No judgement, uncle. In fact, I’ve found out that I …’ Ard didn’t know how to continue.

  ‘What?’ Liam held a hand up for another round of ales.

  ‘Nothing.’ Ard shook his head. ‘Tell me what happened.’

  His uncle shrugged. ‘Simple. I saw her one day in the street, long ago in Bendigo. I was barely your age. Captivating, she was. Still is. Jemimah Calthorpe.’ He frowned into his ale.

  ‘And?’

  ‘And what, lad? What the hell do you think happened if we had a child?’ Liam looked around, as if someone might have heard.

  Ard barked a laugh. ‘I mean, why were you not with her?’

  ‘Ah.’ Liam paid for the ale delivered with a thud to their table. ‘Some rubbish to do with the old wars between the English and the Irish. Me parents were not long out of the old country, free Irish immigrants, before the Great Famine. But Jem’s brother wouldn’t have it, he was English. Neither would my father.’ He looked sideways at his nephew. ‘My pa was not a man to cross. In any case, her brother, a high-brow, took her in, God bless him and all, then married her off to some poor sod who’d have her. Not an Irish, either. Now he’s dead and I’m claiming my girl.’

  Ard stared at Liam, at the rawness still on his face, at the grief he thought he could feel still coming off the man.

  ‘I let her go, back then, instead of standing up to be counted. I thought she’d be better off. We should have run away and got married soon as we knew the baby was coming.’ He wiped a hand across his mouth. ‘I spent every day of thirty years and more regretting that we didn’t. I’m not missing out again, and now my son has bairns of his own, and another coming.’

  Ard’s thoughts ticked over. Family.

  Liam smiled then and the grief seemed to drop away. ‘So, to answer your question, I’ll go to Swan Hill, but I can help with my share of the Bendigo land to get this new place going here. Will benefit all of us.’ He took another big swallow of ale. ‘My son has two other boats, and he’ll use them to freight crops and wool from his place to Adelaide and back to Echuca as long as river freight lasts. He’ll also back-freight fruit and vegetables from here. Fresh is sorely missed downriver. It’ll work well.’

  Ard couldn’t miss the pride in his uncle’s voice.

  ‘Dane and his wife want to breed horses on the station out of Swan Hill, too. Lorc and I’ll look into that. No point waiting for a depression to down us when there’s opportunity to dig in and be ahead, to look after ourselves.’

  Ard’s focus sharpened. ‘I really like the idea of horses. A depression could wipe us out, though. At one time, I thought sowing wheat would be a good idea, but even that’s failing here.’

  Liam nodded. ‘We’ll look at anything, but best to start with what we know we’re good at. If we’re self-sufficient like we have been, and we live on the river close to water, no matter a drought or a depression, we’ll be all right. As family … all of us, we can survive.’

  Family.

  ‘I let her go back then … every day of thirty years and more regretting …’

  Ard downed his first ale, and gripped the next pot. ‘How soon do we know about this hundred acres?’

  ‘Soon as I secure Ling’s seventy pounds. I’m to put a holding sum on the place we want here before I get the train.’ Liam held his hand up for another round.

  ‘Two houses on it, you say?’ Ard’s thoughts were coming thick and fast.

  ‘Aye, though I’m not sure of the state of the second one. I’m assured the main cottage is sound.’

  ‘We should have a look at it. Soon.’

  ‘Soon as I get back from Bendigo. Be a week or so, I’m guessing.’

  Ard nodded, thinking hard. Then, ‘When do you think Pa will get here?’

  Liam shrugged. ‘Could be any time from now. Lorc wanted to make sure he got what’s owing to him, and if that fell short he was leaving straight away. If he can, he’ll put the horse and cart on a barge, come here first, get Eleanor settled then head for Bendigo.’

  Ard focused hard on his drink. ‘There’s so much to be done.’

  ‘That there is, lad.’

  Ard wasn’t thinking of his parents’ new land holding.

  He saw Liam on the four thirty to Bendigo, and stood, one hand clenching the two single pound coins his uncle had given him for lodgings. The train chortled out of the station. Ard watched it go until i
t disappeared down the line. Leaving the concourse, he headed back to the main street, keen to find somewhere to sleep for the night. Tomorrow he’d walk to where Liam had told him this new patch was. He’d take a look around, get to know the place.

  His uncle a-marrying. He had a cousin. Paddle-steamers. Fruit and vegetables. Horses.

  Linley. Now it was more important than ever to find Linley.

  As he turned into the township he looked up and saw James Anderson on his cart.

  Forty-Three

  My dear Miss Seymour,

  Miss Juno of Mr Campbell’s office has kindly assisted me writing this letter. It is my apology to you; it comes from my heart, if you will forgive so familiar a term.

  I told you in my first letter that my baby was fathered by Ard O’Rourke and it is true. I was with Ard after a great deal of rum and addled thinking, and that is my only excuse. I cannot hope to soothe the terrible hurt I have inflicted.

  I was a selfish person, Miss Seymour.

  When I found myself with child, I knew Ard would stand by me if he knew about the baby. But he would be miserable in a marriage to me for I know he loves you. He went away to make something of his life and I knew full well even before we fell together that his life would never be with me.

  So I married a man who said he would be good to me despite all. I couldn’t have been more wrong.

  I am now so far along with child, and now so beaten at the hands of Gareth Wilkin that I fear for my baby even if we both survive the birthing of it. I say so because he will kill me and the baby I am sure, after he has my inheritance.

  I know about Miss CeeCee and Mr Anderson both, and that they do good work for those less fortunate in life, such as myself. Miss CeeCee has helped me for I have no family now. If you are reading this letter, you have taken my child because something dreadful has happened to me.

  I want you to be my baby’s guardian because I know you love Ard. I know that you will forgive him this indiscretion with me for the sake of his baby. I know you are a woman of compassion, perhaps not what I deserve, but certainly what my child deserves. What Ard’s child deserves. My actions, and Ard’s, are no fault of this child. Perhaps one day you and Ard will have a child together, and be a complete family.

  Mr Campbell has my Last Will and Testament and you would by now know its contents. The inheritance from my aunt Edith Bending will be held in Trust for you to use as my child’s guardian. Mr Campbell assures me the law will stand by my decision. I fervently hope it is so because to date, I have no reason to trust the law.

  I believe you will see this letter, to be sent to you only after my death. From wherever my soul might be at that time, I thank you for your kindness, beg your forgiveness, and, Miss Seymour, beg your further grace—please look after my child, and in the future, let my child know a little of me.

  Sincerely

  Mary Bonner

  CeeCee knocked rapidly on Linley’s door. ‘Whatever is the matter, Lin?’ she implored as she swung it open.

  Linley’s blotched wet face and dripping nose screwed up in a wordless answer.

  ‘Linley.’ CeeCee hastened to sit on the small bed, reached into her pocket and withdrew a handkerchief. She wrapped her niece in a hug. ‘Tell me.’

  Linley pushed the crumpled letter into her aunt’s hands. CeeCee smoothed it out and read quickly, sighing here and there, frowning once or twice.

  ‘Well,’ she said. ‘That explains it, doesn’t it?’ She looked at her niece. ‘And Ard O’Rourke knows about Toby, doesn’t he?’

  Linley hiccupped and pressed the handkerchief against her eyes. ‘I haven’t told him. I just wrote him a letter after Mary died. I don’t even know if it got to him.’

  CeeCee gave Linley’s shoulders a squeeze. ‘But you knew Ard was Toby’s father?’

  Linley nodded, sobbing in ragged breaths. ‘Mary told me in an earlier letter.’ She patted the older envelope on the bed beside her. ‘That’s why I put his name as father on the registration certificate. First because he is the baby’s father and second because I couldn’t stand Gareth Wilkin having any claim whatsoever.’

  ‘Oh, Linley.’

  ‘And third because it’s right.’ She hiccupped through the sobs.

  CeeCee glanced down at the letter again. ‘Are you sure that Mary wouldn’t have been with anyone else? That she only says Ard O’Rourke is…’

  ‘Oh Aunty, I don’t know, I don’t know. But you only have to look at Toby to see the likeness of him to—’

  ‘It’s all right, Linley. Keep yourself calm. Nothing changes.’ CeeCee thought quickly. She hardly knew Ard, but what she did know was he seemed a reasonable lad. And as a lad … no, what would he be now, twenty-five or -six? Not a lad any longer, but a man.

  And the father of the baby. The baby to whom Linley was a guardian.

  These young people! What tangles!

  And do these two, Ard and Linley, love each other?

  CeeCee gazed at the silently sobbing Linley. Her niece hadn’t ever said … Was CeeCee so blind she hadn’t noticed … and yet—

  Good lord! All those furious blushes and the embarrassment and the high emotion in Linley since taking the baby … CeeCee had hoped it was only Linley adjusting. Just the last girlish notions as she grew up and into her motherhood role. But no, it was all for Ard. All Linley’s longing for a man of her own.

  It was, most likely, her niece’s own primal urges. Seeing little Toby at the breast, feeding hungrily, and smelling that peculiar baby-smell that only babes have. Wondering at the strength in the clutch of tiny fingers. At the wide-eyed stare of a month-old babe as it never left your face. Knowing that this baby was the son of the man she loved.

  Oh yes, CeeCee remembered her own maternal feelings for Linley when she had been thrust into her keeping. But it was not a road she wanted to travel for herself. Linley was her sister’s daughter, and she would look after her niece as best she could, but CeeCee had never wanted a child of her own. When Eliza died, Linley was enough for CeeCee.

  Linley must be feeling her own maternal surge with Toby in her arms. CeeCee gripped her hands in hers, patting absently. Oh dear.

  ‘I think the best thing we can do now is try to find Ard O’Rourke,’ she said to Linley, who blew loudly into the handkerchief, shaking her head.

  Linley was horrified. ‘Oh no, CeeCee. I could never face him now, after all this—’

  ‘How absurd.’ CeeCee drew back. ‘Linley, I’m surprised at you. Of course we have to find Ard. If only to give him the chance to—’

  ‘No. No. What could he do? What reason would I have to ever speak to him again?’ Linley stopped. She hadn’t meant to say that and she knew CeeCee had caught it.

  Her aunt narrowed her gaze. ‘What reason? I think you have a very clear reason to speak to him again. You have his son, Linley.’ CeeCee’s frown deepened.

  ‘He need never know.’ She felt the hiccup in her throat. ‘Men don’t usually want to know these things, do they?’

  ‘Only one way to find out, now, isn’t there?’

  ‘No, Aunty. No matter how stern you might sound, I can do this without Ard O’Rourke.’

  ‘You would withhold this information from him?’ The frown lifted into raised brows, eyes wide.

  ‘Why would he ever need to know?’

  CeeCee inhaled deeply. ‘You said yourself the baby has Ard’s stamp on him. How would you hide that from all the world?’

  Linley could hear a creeping frustration in her aunt’s voice. She rubbed her forehead. ‘I don’t know. I don’t know.’

  CeeCee took her hands. ‘Linley. I can tell you have strong feelings for this man.’

  Linley felt the hot surge rush into her cheeks, the tiny pin pricks of heat darting over her face. ‘He must know. He must have known.’

  ‘Known what?’

  ‘That I—’ The air stuck in her throat.

  CeeCee sat back.

  ‘That I have loved him …’ Her voice trailed off and a n
ew flood of heat rushed to her cheeks. ‘So how could he …?’ Linley looked at her aunt, despairing.

  ‘Ah. So how could he be with another?’

  Linley nodded, unable to speak. Tears squeezed out afresh and dropped onto their still clasped hands.

  CeeCee sniffed. She shook her head. ‘I can’t answer that. Except to say that to us women, it seems men do some stupid things. Sometimes they attach no emotion to the act of … of love.’ CeeCee stopped a moment. ‘Or perhaps the stupid dolt didn’t know you loved him.’

  Linley blurted another sob, half a laugh, half a cry, remembering what Millie had said about there being no cure for stupid. ‘I feel so ridiculous.’

  ‘Why on earth?’

  ‘He will think I trapped him.’ She sighed and glanced at the ceiling.

  ‘How?’

  Linley looked at her aunt. ‘That I agreed to take Toby to trap him.’

  CeeCee scoffed. ‘Mary came to me for help, not you. And afterwards, you agreed to be Toby’s guardian, to look after him …’ Her voice trailed off and she focused on Linley.

  Silent moments passed. ‘Now you understand, don’t you?’ Linley said sadly. ‘I can see you do.’ She wrung her hands in her lap. ‘Did I agree to take Toby only so that Ard would eventually have to come to me?’

  CeeCee frowned more darkly at her and Linley had to look away. It wasn’t like that. But it looked like it. She didn’t want to trap Ard, certainly didn’t want a man who didn’t want her. Mary had said the same herself. Linley wouldn’t have taken care of Toby just to lay a trap for his father. She loved that baby, fiercely. She did. She could look after him, and she would.

  ‘That will be something for you to sort with Ard, Linley, if you choose.’ Her aunt looked as if she’d taken pity on her.

  ‘That wasn’t the reason, CeeCee, not at all. But it was all sorts of things. Our work. Mary’s pleading letter. Yes, it’s Ard’s baby …’ Fresh tears threatened. ‘But not a trap.’

  Her aunt tsk-tsked. ‘First, the man needs to know you have his son, and better he learns it from you than from the gossips.’ CeeCee leaned closer to her niece. ‘And second, you need to admit to yourself exactly what it is you want.’