And there was always Jamie with his amazing store of Outback tales.
While everyone watched and waited as Jamie worked the windlass with Blackie White, and they waited for Church to dig himself out—and Hannah tried not to stare at Jamie's sweaty back and sinewy arms—a cooking aroma drifted their way. Nan was at one of the fires, roasting a fat goanna she had trapped and killed, cooking it in the skin Aboriginal-style. Hannah didn't know Nan's story. No one did. Judging by the scars pitting her dark face, Nan had once had a severe case of pox, a white man's disease. Jamie said that Mike Maxberry didn't talk about the native woman he kept company with, saying simply that her entire clan had been wiped out by a chicken pox epidemic, with only Nan surviving. For some reason, she had attached herself to Mike and stayed with him since.
Nan didn't talk much, even though she knew English. But one thing Hannah had heard the Aboriginal woman say was that this area of the Out-back was called Plains of Fire by the Aborigines. A wilderness that, in the summer, was hotter than blazes where "not even blackfellah goes."
This was the source of what had been troubling Hannah on this sunny spring afternoon in September as she had noodled on mullocks for over-looked opals: her growing fear that these men were so gripped with opal fever that they would not abandon these fields when the time came. And that time, blazing summer, was coming soon.
Suddenly a muffled roar was heard underground.
The men exchanged fearful glances.
"Church!" Jamie called down. "You still there?"
They listened, but all they heard was the whistling wind.
"I'm going down," Jamie said.
"And lose you, too?" Maxberry shouted. "Boyo, it's suicide going down there. Ralph is buried!"
Jamie climbed over the side and, using the handholds and footholds gouged into the stone wall of the shaft, slipped his right foot into the bucket, gripped the rope and said, "Lower me."
Roddy the carrot-topped bricklayer took over for Jamie and cranked the handles with Blackie White. They waited in anxious silence as the winch creaked Jamie O'Brien down into the abyss, his dark-blond head swallowed by darkness. They heard a thud at the bottom, and then the hurried clearing of rocks and stones, heavy breathing and the occasional, "Hang on, Church, I'm coming."
Hannah bit her lip. Only last week Jamie had wondered out loud if the men were sinking shafts too close together, possibly creating a dangerous situation by destabilizing this patch of desert. As sounds drifted up from the bottom of the hole, but no sound coming from Ralph Gilchrist, Hannah looked toward the distant horizon, across the hundreds of miles of flat windswept desolation, and thought: No one knows where we are.
Finally: "Got him!" And as Roddy and Blackie strained at the windlass, hoisting Ralph up the shaft, hands reached out, ready to grab him.
Ralph was covered in blood from a head wound. Hannah was immediately at his side as the men laid their friend on the ground. He was fully awake, Hannah could see, and in a great deal of pain. The cave-in had pelted him with rocks and stones that had cut him all over.
The men joked with Ralph to lift his spirits. And Ralph, himself grinning, roared, "Quit yer laughing, you lot. This ain't as funny as it looks!"
But when Hannah saw Ralph Gilchrist grimace, revealing his teeth, she received a shock. "Merciful Heaven," she whispered.
She stood and, suddenly shaken, said, "Will you please carry him to his tent? I shall look after him there."
Jamie climbed up and out of the mine shaft, to the cheers of his friends, but Hannah was too stunned to congratulate him on a brave deed.
The opal hunters didn't know it, but they suddenly had a very serious and deadly situation on their hands.
31
W
HEN HANNAH FINISHED SEEING TO RALPH GILCHRIST'S wounds, none of which were life threatening, she came out of the tent to find that night had fallen and the men were gathered around the main campfire. Stinky Sam was digging biscuits out of the embers while Nan was skinning the goanna and dropping juicy chunks of lizard meat onto the men's tin plates. Hannah watched them pass around a canvas water bag, drinking freely.
She was worried about their dwindling water supply. Scant winter rains had come through, keeping the barrels full, and Nan was adept at digging in dry creek beds and sucking up brackish water through a reed. But a rainless summer was coming. While there was enough water now for men and horses, soon it would be all gone. Hannah had held back some of the precious water as an eye wash, because of the constant threat of a conjunctivitis called "sandy blight," but even that would not last long.
And now they had an even bigger worry. She glanced back into the tent where Ralph Gilchrist lay moaning. He hadn't long to live, and it had nothing to do with the cave-in.
Hannah lifted her face to the cold wind. The air felt different this evening, strange. Was rain coming? But no clouds covered the bright, frosty stars.
She looked at Jamie O'Brien at the campfire, noting that he had changed into a fresh shirt, one that he had hung on a line to let the wind and sand blast it clean. Over it, the familiar black leather vest with silver buttons. And while he had to forgo shaving because of water restrictions, Jamie kept his dark blond beard clipped short and his hair trimmed at the collar.
As she looked at the other men's faces illuminated in the fire's glow, while they ate and laughed and talked, Hannah thought what a close-knit fraternity it was. It was the mateship peculiar to the Outback, she knew, where danger was so rife that many times the only thing between a man and certain death was the friend riding at his side.
So the problem of convincing these men to abandon the opal fields, that it was a matter of life or death, lay with Mr. O'Brien. Hannah knew that if she could convince him to leave, the others would follow.
As Jamie told a story, he kept his eyes on Hannah, standing outside the tent Ralph Gilchrist shared with Tabby and Bluey Brown. She had a worried look on her face. Was Church all right? Hannah was a sight, Jamie thought with a rush of sexual yearning. Her gown had seen better days, and wisps of hair hung loose about her face. But she was still every inch the lady.
Hannah Conroy occupied Jamie's thoughts night and day. He dreamed about her. As he toiled away in his mine, chipping at the sandstone, he wondered what it would be like to hold her, to kiss her. After years of chasing skirts and enjoying amorous conquests, Jamie thought himself immune to love. Had not even come close.
Until now.
Now he knew where the songs and poems came from, about love and romance and eternal faithfulness. He had thought they were just fanciful notions and words composed by lovesick young men. Jamie wished now that he himself had the gift for poetry and lyric, because simply thinking, "I love this woman," sounded inadequate and far from his true feelings.
"You always tell the story wrong, Jamie," Charlie Olde teased. "The dog that sat on the tucker box. The way I heard it, the word wasn't sat."
As the others laughed, Jamie growled, "Watch your language," and suddenly seeing Hannah standing there, Charlie blushed fiercely and apologized to her. But Hannah wasn't offended. Jamie O'Brien's tales fascinated her.
As colorful as he was, however, Hannah realized that Jamie didn't know much beyond Australia or his own experience. He'd been around and seen a lot, but when she made mention, perhaps, of Keats or Byron, he didn't know what she was talking about. He knew nothing of history or science, and his knowledge of geography, outside of Australia, was scant. "Never been to England. I hear it rains a lot." Jamie O'Brien's smarts lay in his foxy quick-thinking brain, craftily tricking other men, and staying one step ahead of the law.
She could not help comparing him to Neal, which she knew was not fair, but there it was all the same. Neal, who was book-smart and educated, a gentleman with a thirst for knowledge, for solving mysteries, a man of honesty and integrity and with whom she had once thought she was going to die.
How was it possible to be attracted to two men at once, and men so different from each other? Perh
aps it was possible, if the emotions themselves were different, too. Her love for Neal ran deep and sure, and made her toss and turn in restless dreams. Her feelings for Jamie were less sure, less definable, and more immediate. He felt forbidden to her, and therefore exciting. Not love, perhaps, but desire. Definitely desire.
Hannah always looked forward to evenings at the campfire—in the company of men who were shy and polite with her, who watched their language and called her Miss Conroy—beneath a vast starry sky, listening to Jamie O'Brien's stories. She thought what beautiful ballads they would make, and she imagined Alice singing them on a stage to a spellbound audience. Jamie spun colorful tales of drovers and sheepmen, soldiers and outlaws, of immoral women and saintly wives, of explorers and adventures, swagmen and bushrangers, natives who went walkabout, and men who drank and gambled and gave up their lives to pursue elusive dreams. Jamie told of Aborigines named Pingjim and Joe, and mountains called Karra Karra and Wellington, of towns with ancient names and names that were new, like Gundagai and Victoria. And he boasted about his own swindles, taking money from gullible men, selling land that didn't exist, making off with the horses and wagons of Her Majesty's troops, all told in a wry tone with a cheeky grin.
Hannah joined the group at the campfire, trying to think of how to break the latest news to him.
"You think that's funny, miss," one of the three carrot-topped brothers said with a mouth full of food, "you shoulda been with us the day Jamie here was approached by a toffee-nosed Pom fresh off the boat. The bloke said he'd heard about a curious animal we have here, a kind of bear that lives in trees. So Jamie tells the Pom it's called a Drop Bear. They are called that, says Jamie, because they drop out of gum trees and suck the eyeballs out of anyone walking underneath. The Pom said he really wanted to see one, so Jamie tells him he can protect himself by rubbing dog urine on his head before he goes out walking."
"You know, Miss Conroy," Blackie White said, as if competing for her attention, "after I first met Jamie up Brisbane way, I took him home and my mother said he hadn't the manners of a pig. But I stuck up for him and said he did."
"Hey Jamie," Tabby the axeman said, "did ya tell Miss Conroy about the time you boxed a kangaroo?"
Jamie grinned and said to Hannah, "Yeah, I did box a kangaroo, but I let her win. She had a joey in her pouch."
As the others laughed, Hannah quietly said, "Mr. O'Brien, may I have a word with you, please?"
They went to the opal shed—four wagon axles supporting a twig and brush roof—where a makeshift table had been constructed of planks and barrels, upon which were spread the finds from all the shafts: chunks of sandstone embedded with luscious opal of all the colors of the rainbow. A king's ransom.
When Jamie was sure they were out of the hearing of the others, he turned to Hannah and said, "So how's Church is doing?"
"His injuries are minor."
"Thank God. When I saw all that blood, it had me worried."
Jamie wore no hat so that his hair, the color of antique gold, Hannah thought, was stirred by the evening wind. But there was enough light from a flickering lantern to make his eyes shine blue like the opals on the table. Without other people around them, with just the silence of the night and the stars above, Hannah felt suddenly nervous. He stood very close to her. He smiled, crinkling the corners of his eyes.
"Mr. O'Brien, we have a serious situation on our hands. The very thing that I feared has happened. Ralph Gilchrist has scurvy."
When he didn't react, she added, "You would know it as the Barcoo rot."
His eyes widened. "Are you sure?"
"He has bleeding gums. It is the first sign. His condition will get worse."
"How did he get it?"
"Scurvy is caused by a diet deficiency. Months of eating nothing but meat and biscuits."
He rubbed his jaw. "Then how come the rest of us don't have it?"
"We all will eventually, it is only a matter of time. Before Mr. Maxberry fetched me from the Australia Hotel, I was eating fruit and vegetables. My body most likely still has a store of the necessary acidic juice that prevents scurvy. I am guessing that in the months before you and your men departed Adelaide, you all ate properly. Mr. Gilchrist clearly did not. His diet was already deficient, so he is the first to show the symptoms. But I assure you, Mr. O'Brien, if we do not head back for Adelaide at once, we shall all come down with it."
"How serious is this scurvy?"
"It is fatal in every case."
Jamie frowned. "Don't you have any medicine for it?"
"Scurvy isn't like illnesses that are accompanied by fever. It is a disease of nutritional lack. Unless he gets proper food—fruit and vegetables—he will die. As will we all, Mr. O'Brien, if we stay out here much longer. If you don't want to go to Adelaide, then at least get your men to the head of Spencer Gulf, where there is fresh water and vegetation."
The wind picked up, rustling the brush over their heads and making the support poles sway and creak. A few strands of Hannah's hair had come loose from the chignon, to whip across her cheek. Jamie resisted the impulse to reach up and sweep it back.
"It's not that simple, Hannah." He ran his fingers through his thick hair. "They gave up their jobs, they pulled up stakes, they left wives and sweethearts behind. And they promised them they'd come home rich."
"We have opals," she said, gesturing to the generous spread on the table.
"Not enough, not split twelve ways.
"They can have my share."
"And they can have mine, too, but it's still not enough. They put their life savings into buying the wagons and horses and all the supplies and tools.
They'll want their money back and more. You've seen how these men work, how driven they are. With each little bit of opal they find, they are that much more obsessed with finding more."
When she started to protest, Jamie said, "Hannah, these men are more than casual mates. When Mike and I escaped from the road gang and the police launched a manhunt for us, I went straight to these blokes for help. They gave us a hiding place and food and steered the police in the wrong direction. I owe these men my life, so when I came into the treasure map and knew I was onto something good, I wanted to share it with men who had saved my life."
The wind gusted, and Hannah had to hold her skirts down. "If it is about repaying a debt, Mr. O'Brien, you can repay them now by saving their lives."
"But it's like this, yes Ralph's come down with the scurvy, but there's no sign of it in the rest of us. They won't leave while they're still feeling healthy, and I'm not sure I want to make them. Look at young Charlie there," Jamie said, pointing to the youngest in the group at the campfire. "I met him up Murrumburrah way ten years ago. This was long before I was put to work on a chain gang. I was free in those days, and on the road looking for shearing work when I found this boy in a field digging a hole. He was crying because he was burying his brother. So I set my swag down and finished digging the grave and then covered up his brother. Charlie told me he was all alone in the world. He was fifteen, I was twenty-three, so I invited him to join me and we ended up at Bunyip cattle station where he got a job as a stockman working under Stinky Sam, whom I'd already made friends with the year before. Six years later, those two hid Mike and me and gave us food and lied to the police who came looking for us. That was at great risk to themselves, because harboring us would get them prison for sure. I've promised to make them rich men and I can't go back on my promise."
Jamie fell silent and studied his calloused hands, while the wind gusted around him and Hannah, and the men at the campfire jumped out of the way of flying sparks. "Ralph Gilchrist," he said softly, "was being waylaid by bushrangers when I met him on the road. I joined the fray and together we sent them running. But for me, Church would have died or been left crippled, so he gave me a summer's work and a good life droving bullocks. I've a special friendship with each of those men, Hannah, and I won't let them down."
She thought about this and something occurr
ed to her. Ever since he told her that he had run away from home, Hannah had thought of him as a man without a family. And yet it was not so. Jamie O'Brien had a very close-knit family. She had never thought that family could be more than flesh and blood. But she thought now of her own close friendships with Alice and Liza Guinness, and she realized that she regarded them as family. It startled her. The night her father died, Hannah had seen herself as being alone in the world. But, like with Jamie, it was not so.
Before she could try another attempt at persuasion, a sudden bright light illuminated the sky, followed by a deafening crack.
"What—" Jamie snapped around in the direction of the flash just as a second bright light burst against the dark night. He and Hannah stared in shock at the streaks of blinding white appearing suddenly and branching from the sky to the ground.
"Hoy! A storm is coming!" shouted Blackie White as the men jumped up from the campfire. "And it's coming fast!"
As they now saw monstrous black clouds materializing out of the night, billowing toward them, the men dropped their plates and frantically ran around to all the empty barrels in the camp, up-ending them to catch rain water.
Another blinding flash as more lightning forked down, striking the opal shed and setting it on fire. Great forks of white light streaked down from the black sky, filling the air with a burning smell. Hannah's skin tingled. She felt the hairs rise on the back of her neck. The bolts came quickly now, racing along the flat plain toward the vulnerable camp, hot-white branches striking the ground five, ten, fifteen times at once. It was as if the whole desert had suddenly been electrified. The thunder was deafening.
"We have to get into the mines!" Jamie shouted. "We're not safe out here! Somebody get Church!"
Roddy and his two brothers ran into Ralph Gilchrist's tent and came out with him by arms and legs.
The wind was furious now, the lightning on the leading edge of a gust front where the new storm was forming. Rain was a miracle and a blessing on this parched land, but the swords of fire that split the sky and sparked the earth were terrifying in their brilliance and intensity, the thunder cracking so loud that it seemed the sky was splitting open.
This Golden Land Page 31