Jewel In the North

by Tricia Stringer

  “The cattle should be all right here over the summer.” Hegarty plucked a leaf from a saltbush branch and crushed it in his huge fingers. “Plenty of feed here to last them and, who knows, we might get rain then since we didn’t get any all winter.”

  “Perhaps.” William knew it was possible. Summer storms had brought huge rains in the past. “Let’s hope you’re right.”

  They watched the cattle a little longer as they drank and milled around the edge of the water, turning it to mud and leaving their prints. William thought again of Uncle Binda’s people camped further up in the ranges. He took his horse’s reins and called to Hegarty. “I’m going to ride up into the higher country. I suspect there may still be sheep up there.”

  “Surely the natives and the wild dogs would have taken any left after we shifted the main mob over to Wildu Creek.”

  “Maybe, but I haven’t been up that way for a while.” William mounted his horse and looked down at Hegarty. He couldn’t explain to the older man the sudden urge that had him wanting to visit the rugged country further east. “You go back to the homestead. I want to do some exploring. If we don’t get that rain these cattle are going to need other water supplies before the summer’s out. I’ll come back this way and check the cattle again before I return. Expect me in a couple of days.”

  Hegarty gave him a steady look. “You’re the boss.”

  William lifted his hand in a wave and wheeled his horse away. They worked easily together and William liked the older man and respected him, but he wanted to make this expedition on his own; see for himself if there wasn’t a way for the natives and the cattle to exist together.

  He ducked his head under a low-hanging branch and urged Big Red up a slope between two ridges of brown and black shale rock. He was in no hurry. After working with the cattle he enjoyed letting the horse amble, taking him deeper into the hills but at no desperate pace. It allowed him the luxury of some time to think about Georgina.

  It had been several weeks since he’d had a letter from her. Their communication had been tenuous since she’d left. Finding time alone to write to him was difficult for her as she spent nearly every minute with her mother, who she said watched her like an eagle searching for prey. They had spent some of the English summer with an uncle and aunt of her mother’s and were now in Europe, travelling to the warmer areas for the European winter. In the spring they planned to travel through Scotland and Ireland. William had written several letters in reply which he longed to send but even if he knew where to send them, her mother was bound to intercept them. Instead he kept the growing pile in a wooden box in his room. His heart ached for her return.

  The horse beneath him came to a stop; the terrain around them looked impassable. William knew it wasn’t even though he hadn’t been paying close attention to the landscape. Now he climbed down and studied the narrow gorge walls and thick trees. He’d come this way before with his father and Uncle Binda, and they had shown him the hidden waterhole where the two older men first met. It had been during the previous big drought and all the waterholes had failed except the one to which he was heading. It was the same place where his father had found his lucky rock, which they had discovered was a diamond.

  He led the horse around a large outcrop and on up a narrow gully, and sure enough they came to a small pool where water trickled over the rocks. William scooped up the clear liquid and drank. Nearby his horse took some in too. He looked around and could see signs of animals including the sheep which, barring a few stragglers, had all been moved to Wildu Creek. Thomas and Joseph managed them while William and Hegarty managed the cattle on Smith’s Ridge. There were too many sheep for the current conditions and he knew they would soon need to make the decision to sell some off; perhaps the cattle would be sold too if the dry continued.

  William tethered the horse so it could reach feed and took some damper from his saddle bag. He leaned his back against the base of a large gum and bent one leg to prop himself up.

  A shadow swept the ground in front of him. He looked up to see a large eagle circle the waterhole, then it drifted higher until the branches hid it from his sight. He stepped out from the shade and watched as the giant bird circled again, further away this time. It spent some time focused on the one place before it drifted again and was lost from his sight. Perhaps he should look around. The eagle was only searching for something to eat but if that something was a sheep William would prefer his family have it than the bird of prey. He decided he would scout around and camp the night. Then, since he’d come this far, tomorrow he would go on to the next spring, which was even more inaccessible.

  Tomorrow he would visit the camp. With luck Binda and Millie’s father would be feeling benevolent towards his presence. While Uncle Binda was a native of the land, he was a man who’d lived much of his life in a white man’s world. His father, Yardu, was the opposite, keeping away from the settlers as much as he could. It would depend what mood Yardu was in as to whether William would be welcome.

  The horse snorted and shook its head. Time to move on. William took the reins and led the way out of the narrow gorge down into the dry creek bed where he mounted again and headed deeper into the hills.

  Yardu heard the excited call of the young men as they returned to camp. They’d caught something big to share. He hoped it would be kangaroo. He had never learned to enjoy the white man’s sheep like his family did. The buzz of voices grew louder as the women and children joined in. Everyone would eat well tonight.

  There had been no rain. They’d stayed in this summer camp all winter and now there was no purpose in moving. Nearby was one of the last waterholes not polluted by the white invaders and their animals. Sorrow weighed heavily on Yardu. It had been a sad day when his son Binda had found the young white man, Joseph Baker, at the waterhole and brought him back to their camp. Yardu had known then his hope that they would keep some small part of the country free from the white man was futile.

  Even his family had been taken from him. First Binda had left to go and live with the Bakers and then Yardu’s daughter, Millaki, had run off to work for white people further south before she ended up becoming Joseph Baker’s woman. Others had left. Young men who thought they would find something they didn’t have here. Some returned and brought the white man’s sickness with them, infecting the camp. It hurt his heart to see the change he now accepted he was powerless to stop.

  Yardu eased his legs out from under him and used the stick that lay next to him to get to his feet. The pains that wracked his back were not so bad today. He struggled out of the shelter and straightened his aching body just as the young men came through the trees. They carried a large kangaroo suspended on a stick between them. Yardu frowned as his wife called out a greeting. Behind the hunters walked a young white man leading a horse. The children rushed to his side and Yardu watched as the one they called William put his hat on the head of one of the boys.

  A shadow over Yardu flowed across the ground to also pass above the fair head of the white man. Yardu stared up at the giant bird circling in the cloudless afternoon sky. It had one blacktipped wing and one white.

  “Wildu,” he murmured.

  The bird dipped again, did one more circle and once again its shadow crossed Yardu and then William before it gained height and drifted away on a current of warm air.

  Yardu looked back at William, who was oblivious to the giant bird’s presence.

  As if sensing Yardu’s scrutiny William looked around then lowered his gaze. He called a greeting in a plausible replication of the language spoken by Yardu’s people. The old man acknowledged him and felt some warmth for the white-skinned man, who at least showed respect for his elders. Yardu hobbled closer and then faltered as a sharp pain raged up his back. His wife stepped towards him but he put out a hand to stop her. The spasm eased.

  William offered the good wishes of his parents then dug in the bag attached to his horse. He lifted out two smaller pale bags and held them out towards Yardu’s wife. Ya
rdu knew this was the sweet white grains and the soft white powder the women liked to add to their cooking. He inclined his head and his wife took the bags.

  Yardu settled himself in the dirt by the fire, which was already full of coals ready to receive the kangaroo. He waited patiently for the pain to subside and looked up at the brilliant blue sky, where three wildu circled in the distance, gliding effortlessly in the warm air over the mountain. The presence of the birds of prey was not unusual and he took comfort in their company. It was the big one that had come so low, a large male he hadn’t seen for a season, that made him look again at the young white man. Wildu had shown the time was right. Yardu’s heart ached. He knew his own time in this country was running out. He had done his best to protect his people from the invaders but he knew now it had been futile. Somehow he had to ensure the survival of his people once he was gone. His son, Binda, had turned his back on them and Binda’s son had returned to his mother’s people. It should be Millaki’s boy, but he was too young, and Yardu had little time left. As much as it was against everything he believed, the only hope for his family was to put his trust in the white man who now approached his fire.

  William left the camp early the next morning. The heat of the sun was warm on his back and yet a chill wriggled down his spine. The old man was dying. He had said nothing about being unwell. There had been no complaint, but the pain was etched on his face and he had grown weary after much talking. The night before the group had welcomed William and shared their meal with him. The kangaroo had been delicious but he had been careful to only take a small portion, knowing the meat would be needed to feed the community for several days. After also eating little, Yardu had retired early.

  William glanced back towards the camp, hidden from his sight by the large rocks and bush. He remembered the first time he’d come there with his Uncle Binda. Back then he’d been a young boy with mixed feelings about the native people who shared his home as Uncle Binda and his family did. He’d resented Binda’s daughter Mary most — she often had the job of looking after him. Finally he’d realised it was being bossed by a girl that he didn’t like rather than the colour of her skin. His father had married Yardu’s daughter after William’s mother died, and after that Millie had taught him a lot about the country.

  William had felt keenly the dislike that oozed from some of their neighbours and townsfolk. The Bakers were ostracised by some for their cohabitation with natives and for allowing them access to the waterholes and some sheep. William found he no longer cared. They knew who their friends were at least. But now there was a new burden.

  He turned west and led his horse back though the creek and over a ridge before he mounted and made his way down to the flatter country. From there he followed a track worn in from many journeys of hooves and wheels towards the Smith’s Ridge homestead. It was William’s duty now to make sure Yardu’s people were safe. The burden of the old man’s expectation was a weight he had not asked for and did not want.

  Eight

  November 1897

  “You’re very quiet, my dear.”

  Georgina looked up from the book that lay closed in her lap. Her mother sat opposite her, their knees almost touching in the small space of their shared room. Even though there was a fire, the air still felt cold, and the lamp was lit though it was nearly midday. They had both been reading but Georgina had lost interest.

  “I was thinking of home.” She had been, and more specifically of her handsome neighbour, William Baker.

  “This has been a wonderful holiday to see other parts of the world.” Johanna Prosser looked down her pointy nose at her daughter. “Your father expects you to make the most of this opportunity.”

  “And so I have, Mother. The three months we spent in Europe were certainly interesting and even England has been so different from how I imagined it would be but the winter is so cold and your aunt and uncle have barely enough room for themselves in this tiny cottage let alone for us.”

  “Uncle Winston has been very kind to take us in. We can’t spend all your father’s money on hotels.”

  “I realise that, Mother, but surely it’s not fair to burden them. Two more mouths to feed and us taking over their front room.” Georgina cast a hand to the cramped space behind her, where the furniture of Aunt Anne’s best room, as she called the only living space besides the kitchen, had been moved to the side or shifted out to make room for the double bed that had been borrowed from a neighbour. “Surely you find it cramped.”

  “I must admit I had thought from Aunt Anne’s letters that they had a more palatial establishment.”

  “It’s three rooms in a row of cottages.” Georgina gave a snort. “She certainly thinks she’s a cut above the lowly relatives from Australia but this whole cottage could fit into our two front rooms at home.”

  “Hush, Georgina. They might hear you.”

  “They’re both deaf, Mother.”

  “Uncle Winston, yes, but she can hear well enough when she wants to.” Johanna glanced over her shoulder at the closed door. “She won’t admit it but I think they’re most grateful for the board we are paying and she almost smiled when I offered to buy a turkey for Christmas.”

  “You want to stay in Birmingham another month?” Georgina felt her spirits dip even lower. The thought of spending much longer in the cramped cottage with her dour aunt was dismal.

  “I long to experience one more white Christmas, Georgina. I was only a young girl when my family left England. We will go home in the new year.”

  Georgina’s shoulders sagged. After experiencing snow during their first winter away she no longer gave a penny for it. Sometimes winters at home were cold enough for snow and people in the highest country said it had fallen on the peaks in the past. Give her the crisp chill of winter in the Flinders any day, with the refreshing downpours and the scent of eucalyptus. She closed her eyes: how she missed that smell. Everything here in Birmingham, where her relatives lived surrounded by factories and mills, smelled of cloying smoke and foul drains. The countryside was different, of course, and her few brief experiences of it had been a reprieve from the confines of the town. Everything there was grey, from the weather to the people.

  “Don’t pout, Georgina. It isn’t becoming.” Her mother closed her book. “I have a suggestion. I will book us a week in London before Christmas. We can purchase some gifts and go to the theatre.”

  Georgina would have jumped up from her chair if there had been room for her to do so without landing in her mother’s lap. Instead she remained demurely in her place. “That would be delightful, Mother. I liked London. It was so exciting to be there in the summer for Queen Victoria’s golden jubilee.” She glanced up the commemorative mugs she and her mother had bought. They had pride of place on the mantle. “It would be fun to dress up again.”

  “Perhaps even to dance.” Her mother’s voice had a wistful tone.

  They both looked round at a sharp tap on their door.

  “Come in,” Johanna called.

  The door swung in as far as the bed then one had to close it to get round. Aunt Anne peered around the door but came no further into the room.

  “The post has come.” She waved an envelope. “A letter for you, Johanna.”

  Georgina watched hungrily as her mother twisted around in her chair to retrieve the letter. How she wished she would get some reply from William. She knew he had no way of getting a message to her but a small part of her hoped by some miracle she could have some news of him.

  “Would you like a cup of tea?” Aunt Anne asked.

  “Yes, thank you, Aunt.” Johanna smiled. “We shall join you just as soon as we’ve read the news from home.”

  “It’s not a very fat letter. I hope it’s nothing bad.” The old woman’s lips twisted sideways, giving the lie to that statement.

  “I am sure not. Ellis likes to keep me informed of life at home. I will share it with you when we take our tea.”

  “Very well.” Aunt Anne gave a curt nod a
nd withdrew, closing the door as she went.

  Georgina watched as her mother took up the ornate handle of the opener and slit the envelope with slow deliberation. Johanna slid the pages out and unfolded them. Just as Aunt Anne had indicated, there were not many. The crackle of the small fire was the only sound as she read the pages to herself.

  Georgina could stand it no longer. She was desperate for news of home. “What does Father say?”

  Her mother glanced up. “I will tell you in just a moment, Georgina. Be patient.”

  Georgina flopped back against the over-stuffed back of her aunt’s best chair.

  It was taking her mother a long time to read the few pages. At one point Johanna’s lips pursed and then within a minute a smile played on her lips. Finally, she laid the letter in her lap and looked at Georgina. “Your father wrote this in our Australian spring. Winter was cold and dry. He is having to sell cattle.”

  “Some of the older pastoralists were predicting another drought before we left.”

  “Your father says they’re still saying that but one dry winter doesn’t make a drought. He’s selling a small number to be cautious, and some of the sheep.”

  “What else does he say? Can I read it?” Georgina held out her hand.

  Her mother folded the letter and clutched it to her. “You may not. There are personal things in the letter. Your father misses us of course and asks after you. He is making sure your horse is ridden often and well cared for and in spite of the poor winter we have had a good lot of calves. There was little water in the creek when he wrote but he was hopeful of spring rain.”

  “We are so far away and letters take so long. Perhaps it has rained, perhaps it hasn’t.” Georgina stared into the fire. “I wish I was there now.”

  “He had more to say.”

  The cautioning tone of her mother’s voice made Georgina lift her gaze to the letter again.

  “What is it, Mother?”

  “It seems our neighbour has taken a wife.”