Jewel In the North

by Tricia Stringer

  Six

  September 1896

  “Don’t bother Grandpa, Beth.”

  Thomas looked into the deep brown eyes of the little girl clasping his hand, hoisted her to his lap and kissed the top of her head. Her thick curls gleamed the colour of dark molasses. She was the oldest of Joseph and Millie’s three children and although he wouldn’t admit it, his favourite. Born the year after his dear Lizzie died and named Elizabeth in her honour, the honey-skinned baby had been his constant companion from the time she was old enough to be taken on walks. Now as a seven-year-old she was still his shadow, and slipped onto his lap for a chat or a cuddle whenever she got the chance. Her sister Ruth was a few years younger and was a replica of her older sister except for the pale yellow of her hair and her shy manner.

  Thomas smiled up at his daughter-in-law. Her deep brown eyes sparkled and a protective hand rested on the baby strapped to her chest. “She’s not bothering me,” he said. “The children are my greatest joy; you know that.”

  Millie’s smile widened; she gave him a grateful nod and moved back to the bench beside the large fireplace, where Violet and Esther were helping prepare the food. Thomas was so happy his son’s older daughters had made the journey to be with them.

  The delicious smell of roast mutton permeated the air of the kitchen, which was large by anyone’s standards. There was plenty of room for the table as well as a stove and workbenches, and it even boasted a tap fed by a tank on the hill above. High over their heads was a ceiling of pressed tin and beyond that the corrugated iron roof raised to a high pitch far above. The kitchen took up one back corner of the house, which was made of stone Joseph and William had gathered. The back wall was butted against the side of the hill. Two of the other walls separated the kitchen from the washroom and a bedroom. Only one wall faced outside, with a large window, and a wide verandah stretched beyond it. This room would always be a cool part of the house during the heat of summer.

  Thomas looked down the long kitchen table. On one of the benches running either side sat William and Robert with Ruth between them. At the opposite end of the table in the other chair, Joseph smiled proudly. His new house was finished at last. It had been years in the making and, though not quite as big as he had originally planned, it was a fine house. The kitchen was large and easily held room for preparation and a table for eating. Joseph had included a dining room but it was not furnished yet.

  Millie unstrapped the baby and tucked him into the basket in the corner of the big room under the large glass window. The baby was the reason for the gathering. Matthew was but a few weeks old and the Bakers had gathered to celebrate his birth.

  “Come and sit on the bench beside me, Beth.” Esther indicated the space beside Robert and put a plate with a decorated meat terrine in front of Thomas as Beth slid from his lap. “Start with this, Grandpa. Millie made it and it’s delicious.”

  “Grace first, Esther.” Thomas cast his gaze around his family gathered at the table. The last few years had been good to them. He was worried they faced a tough time again but he didn’t want to spoil the day with talk of drought. “We have much to be thankful for.”

  Once he had finished, they all tried the cold rabbit terrine and the vegetable tart Millie had made before they began on the roast meat and vegetables.

  There was much admiration for Millie’s cooking. It was certainly one of her many talents. Thomas felt the belt pulled tight around his waist. Since Violet and Esther had left Wildu Creek, Millie had made it her business to make sure he was well fed, as did Eliza. He wasn’t complaining but he didn’t work as physically hard as he once had. He would soon need to have his trousers let out if he continued to eat every morsel they put in front of him.

  “That was delicious, Millie.” Violet waved a hand over the now empty terrine plate. “You will have to tell me how you made it.”

  “And me.” Esther added her voice. “I am so sick of rabbit. Edward brings a couple home each day.”

  “My last gift from Isaac was a pair of laying hens.”

  The two sisters chuckled.

  “You both should be grateful you’ve married such good providers.” Thomas raised his eyebrows. “Others aren’t so lucky.”

  “I didn’t marry Edward for his rabbit supply.”

  “Esther.” Violet blushed.

  “Don’t look so shocked, Violet. I love Edward; that’s why I married him.” Esther turned her innocent gaze on her sister. “Whatever were you thinking I meant?”

  Joseph cleared his throat. “How is Edward since his fall?”

  “He’s recovered well.” Esther’s haughty look softened — an accident had nearly claimed her husband before she’d been married a year. “One broken arm and a lot of aches and pains but he was lucky. The gash in his forehead has healed well.” She grinned. “It gives him a rugged look.”

  Both young women had married the year before, Violet to a wool merchant in Port Augusta and Esther to the youngest son of a pastoralist in country north of Hawker. They’d made the trip home to Wildu Creek for this special occasion.

  Thomas sat back. Easy conversation and laughter echoed around the table. His stomach was full of delicious food and there was much to be thankful for but it was times like this he missed his dear Lizzie the most.

  While the women gathered the plates and cleared up, the conversation around the table turned to a discussion about stock, as Thomas had known it would.

  “You have concerns we’re overstocked, Father?”

  Thomas looked at his only son. Joseph’s face was showing the signs of constant work outside in the harsh elements of the Flinders Ranges and yet the lines always made him look like he was smiling rather than weary. After the loss of his first wife, Millie had made him a happy man again.

  “I know it’s too early to be sure but if this heat continues and we don’t get rain we will have little feed for a base mob let alone the huge numbers we have now.”

  “How are things looking at Smith’s Ridge, William?”

  “Worse than here. There’s little on the plains and slopes for the cattle. I will need to move them to the higher country where there’s more natural water, but I’ve still got sheep up there. Hegarty thinks we should sell them and keep to the cattle.”

  “What do you think?” Thomas sat back in his chair to ease the ache in his rear end as he asked the question of his grandson. William had absorbed so much in his twenty-one years. He was quick to learn when it came to dealing with animals and he had a natural affinity with the land. He was more level headed than Joseph had been at his age.

  “I agree with him. We don’t want the lower country to be entirely eaten out and cattle aren’t so tough on the vegetation. They will look after themselves better in the higher country. There are some natural springs there.”

  “My people rely on them.”

  Binda rarely spoke out when there was a large family group gathered. Thomas saw the look of concern that passed between Joseph and his friend.

  “You know we would never allow stock into the top spring.” Joseph turned back to his son. “In any case you can’t get stock near it. It’s inaccessible and if you cleared a way in you would ruin it, and therefore all the downstream pools as well. Not to mention there would be nowhere left for Binda and Millie’s family.”

  Thomas looked around the table at the faces studying William, some with trepidation, some with annoyance. The young man was smart. Thomas could tell he had an idea.

  “What are you thinking, William?”

  William gave his grandfather a small smile. “I think we should destock as we’ve discussed. More if the drought does set in — perhaps keep only a few hundred cattle at Smith’s Ridge and a similar number of sheep here at Wildu Creek.”

  Thomas sat back and thrummed his fingers on his stomach. “Thank goodness every house has large tanks now. The last drought left us with barely enough water for ourselves let alone keeping stock alive.”

  “Both properties have natural s
prings. Wildu Creek more than Smith’s Ridge.”

  Joseph shook his head. “In country difficult for stock to access.”

  Binda’s wife, Jundala, had been helping in the kitchen. She came to stand behind her husband and muttered something in his ear. He put up his hand in a cautionary manner. She said nothing more but remained where she was, her face turned to the window.

  “What if we could redirect the water?”

  “What do you mean redirect?” Joseph frowned at his son.

  William stood up and went to the window. “We collect the rain that falls on this roof via gutters to the tank and then it flows back down the hill to the tap.” He flung his hand in the direction of the tap that protruded from the wall over a large basin where Millie had just finished washing the dishes. “We could do the same kind of thing from the springs. Channel the water to where the stock can reach it.”

  Thomas recalled the first water trap he had made all those years ago to collect water from the creek near his camp. It had taken a lot of trial and error. His first attempt had been washed away but he’d managed to create a sturdy stage from which he could fill the water barrels. That had lasted several seasons. He felt a surge of pride at William’s ingenuity.

  “How would you do it?” Joseph asked.

  “A series of wooden channels.”

  “It would be a lot of work.”

  “What else have we to do but to watch our stock die?”

  “It would take the water from my family.” They all looked at Binda. His voice was low and his dark brown eyes held a depth of sadness. Jundala put a hand on his shoulder. She spoke several words Thomas couldn’t understand but the tone was enough for him to know she was angry. The room fell silent. Even the two little girls stopped their chatter. Tension spread between them, so taut that Thomas felt if he spoke they would all fall apart.

  The atmosphere in his new home was suddenly electric. Joseph saw the glare Millie cast her sister-in-law. He glanced at Binda but his friend wouldn’t meet his look.

  “This is not the time to talk of such things.” Millie’s voice was sharp as she looked from Binda to Jundala.

  Jundala let fly with a torrent of words quick and fast — and full of venom, by the look on her face. Binda stood as Millie replied with equal force. Joseph understood enough of her language to know that what she called her sister-in-law was not good.

  Jundala opened her mouth but Binda silenced her with a sharp word.

  Once more a quiet fell on the room, thick with unease.

  “We wouldn’t take all the water.” William broke the silence. “It’s only an idea, Uncle Binda.”

  Jundala murmured something and Binda shook his head.

  “The idea might have some merit.” Joseph thought it time to add his piece. “I wouldn’t advise doing anything without planning and of course we wouldn’t see your people left without water, Binda.”

  “Your father’s right,” Thomas said. “It’s an interesting idea, William, but not one to be rushed into.”

  “We can think on it.” Joseph looked from his son to Binda. His friend still didn’t meet his gaze. “There’s work to be done,” he continued. “For the time we will move the Smith’s Ridge sheep here for shearing and then decide which we will take south for sale.”

  “Anyway, what do I know?” Thomas too looked sad. “A man who’s lived in this country only forty years. I could be wrong about the dry. Maybe it will rain tomorrow.”

  “Oh Grandpa.” Violet put her arms around his neck and kissed his cheek. “You have learned so much in that time. Where would we be without you?”

  Thomas patted her hand.

  “We will leave.” Binda looked at Joseph.

  “You don’t have to.”

  “There’s still the cake to cut,” Esther said.

  “No cake.” Jundala’s tone was firm. Millie stepped forward and the two women glared at each other. “Thank you.”

  Joseph’s heart was heavy as Binda hugged Millie then said goodbye. Jundala followed him out the door without a backwards glance. The mood was subdued. Millie made a soft tutting sound. Joseph sagged back against the wooden chair. While his family had learned to adapt to this new country he knew the lives of the local natives had been changed forever. He hoped the land was big enough for them all but he wasn’t so sure any more.

  Beth tugged at William’s hand, wanting to be twirled upside down. Ruth took her new doll to show her grandfather and Matthew let out a loud wail.

  Joseph felt himself relax as Millie plucked the noisy baby from his bed. “No doubt about this one’s lungs. He’s either fast asleep or wide awake. No in between.”

  “He’s beautiful,” Violet cooed over Millie’s shoulder and brushed the baby’s dark curls with her hand. She turned and beamed at Thomas then at Joseph. “And there will be a new grandchild for you in the new year.”

  Esther squealed. “You’re with child.”

  “Yes.” Violet’s eyes shone and she put a hand to her still trim stomach.

  Joseph pushed back his chair and rose to his feet. He hugged his daughter close and kissed both her cheeks. He had a momentary thought of her dear mother, Clara, and her grandmother, Lizzie. How they would have delighted in this moment. “I’m so happy for you, my dear.”

  “We both are.” Millie joined him with their own baby snuggled against her shoulder.

  “Matthew will be an uncle before he’s one year old.” Esther hugged her sister.

  “Another baby.” Thomas’s craggy face was lit in a huge smile.

  William came to kiss his sister’s cheek with Beth still clinging to his arm.

  Robert joined them. Once the excited voices had settled he spoke. “Are we never to eat Millie’s fruitcake?”

  Millie laughed. “Of course. Come and sit down everyone. The kettle has boiled.”

  Joseph took Matthew from her and returned to his seat. Cups of tea were handed around, and large slices of cake. He was a very lucky man and yet in the corner of his heart there was sorrow that Binda had not stayed. He had felt things slowly changing between them for a while now — but they had been such good friends for so much of their lives. He hoped they would remain so.

  Matthew squirmed in his arms. He looked down at his small son. His hair was dark like Millie’s and his skin the colour of honey like his sisters’. Joseph saw this new generation as a blend of the old and the new for this land. They would be the future; he was sure of it. Matthew’s little forehead crinkled and he let out a loud wail.

  Millie reached out her arms. “I will take him now.”

  Joseph watched her walk to the wooden rocking chair in the corner, its back to the table so that when she sat in it she had a view out the window. From there she would be able to see the trees along the creek and the back door of Father’s cottage, as they’d taken to calling his house since they moved out to the big house.

  Joseph glanced around the table at the others, all still engaged in happy conversation. Only Binda was missing. Jundala had lived and worked with the Bakers since she’d become Binda’s wife. She’d always been a quiet, shy woman, and a hard worker. She did go for periods to visit her country further north but of course he understood her wanting to be with her family. Millie was quite different; she saw little of her family. She said this home had been built on their country and she was happy with that. Her father, Yardu, had all but disowned her and her brother Binda because of their association with the Bakers.

  Joseph felt a gaze upon him. He looked down the table to where William was watching him. William raised his cup and Joseph responded. He couldn’t blame his son for the rift that had opened between himself and Binda, and yet William saw things very differently when it came to the natives of this land — he always had. Joseph rolled his shoulders as a shiver rippled down his spine. He had worked hard to create a peaceful existence for his family and his friends. He hoped he could keep it that way.

  Seven

  October 1896

  The bellow
ing of cattle echoed all around them. William moved Big Red forward to try and keep them steady. The horse responded immediately. Hegarty was doing the same on the other side of the sandy creek bed but there was no holding them. The animals had already got the scent of water ahead. William went with them, trusting his horse to keep out of their way. They’d been working for three days, shifting the cattle from the plains below where no winter rain meant little water and even less feed.

  The winter had been bitterly cold with icy winds so dry they made eyes water and exposed skin raw. Now it was well into spring but there was still no sign of rain. Occasionally clouds banked on the western horizon, tantalising them with hope, only to slide south again. William didn’t want to believe it but his grandfather’s prophecy that they faced another drought was showing all the signs of being fulfilled. He looked up at the cloudless blue sky where the mid-morning sun was already spreading warmth and the promise of another hot day.

  The creek narrowed and William urged his horse up a bank and onto a rocky plateau. He slid from the saddle, whipped his hat from his head and dragged his sweat-dampened hair back from his eyes before pushing the hat firmly back in place. Hegarty arrived beside him and climbed down, the saddle creaking as his large frame eased to the ground. From their vantage point on the ridge they both watched in silence as the cattle milled around the large expanse of water fed by a natural spring. They had named it the bottom waterhole.

  William knew Millie’s people used this spring for water. While the quest for water for his stock was never out of his mind he was burdened by the memory of Matthew’s birth party and the idea for diverting the water from the top spring that had caused a rift between his family and Uncle Binda’s. As much as the idea had seemed a good one at the time he had come to realise that without those higher, less accessible waterholes, Uncle Binda’s people would not be able to survive. He didn’t believe it was his problem but they had nowhere else to go.