by Alison Booth
‘In the kitchen, I think.’
Sarah hurried across the bare ground to the kitchen, small flurries of dust eddying behind her. After a few moments Harriet heard footsteps in the homestead. The shutters over the windows to Sarah and Henry’s bedroom were closed so gently that you would only notice if looking that way. Afterwards Harriet could hear a murmured conversation that she guessed was Sarah talking to Bella.
With Henry and Carruthers engaged in a discussion about branding and ear-marks, Harriet seized the opportunity to withdraw. She knocked on Sarah’s door. When her sister opened it, her fair hair streaming over her shoulders, Harriet saw Bella sitting on the bed with a hairbrush in her hand. ‘Bella will stay with me until Carruthers has gone,’ Sarah said quietly, shutting the bedroom door behind her and leading Harriet over to the door on the other side of the living room. ‘However long that takes.’
‘Carruthers is a dreadful man. Why didn’t you tell me about him?’
‘I didn’t think he’d come this way. I’ve met him just once before, at one of our muster camps, a long way south-east of here. Bella’s told me about him though and I want to keep her away from him.’
‘I’m not surprised. I didn’t like the way he looked at her.’
‘Like horseflesh, I expect.’
‘Yes. I can’t bear to go back out there again.’
‘Don’t. You could go for one of your walks.’
* * *
Harriet wandered across to the far boundary fence of the home paddock, away from the sheds of the homestead and the shanties of the encampment. Resting her elbows on the railing, she watched the bleeding sky fade slowly to bands of orange and gold and thought of Carruthers. He treated Aborigines like animals or slaves. He would treat white women like that too, she thought, if he had the chance. He was a man in Brady’s mould.
As soon as the sun sank below the horizon, a sprinkling of stars became visible; a creek of stars rather than a river. Small mob of stars. A few years more and the sky would be white with stars as the ancestors crowded the heavens.
‘Evenin’ missus.’ The soft voice made her start with surprise. ‘Boss’ missus asked me to bring you this.’
Mick was standing several paces behind her, holding out a shawl. As she took it and thanked him, she realised that this was the first time they’d been alone together since they met near the mangroves at Palmerston. He nodded and grinned and was about to walk away when she said quickly, ‘Don’t go. I’d like to talk to you.’
Yet now he’d stopped, now that he was leaning on the fence railing not three yards away, she realised that she could think of nothing to say. Or perhaps it was more that she didn’t know how to begin. The evening was far from silent though. The eerie cry of a bush curlew from somewhere near the billabong overlaid the deep hum of a didgeridoo, and soon this was accompanied by clattering clap sticks and the rhythmic chanting of a corroboree.
Eventually she said, ‘That new man Carruthers has taken on. Do you know who he is?’
‘Yes, missus.’
‘Was he the man you saw following me at Palmerston?’
‘Yes, missus. Bent nose white feller. He’s working as a ringer at Empty Creek. He and Carruthers are good mates. Met droving in Queensland years ago.’
‘How long is he here for?’
‘Dunno, missus.’
‘One should try to forgive, I suppose,’ Harriet said, more to herself than to Mick.
‘Not that one. Or Carruthers. Got to avoid fellers like that.’
‘You’re not from around here, are you?’
‘I’m from a long way away. The Coorong, south-east of Adelaide. I was educated at a mission school.’
‘But you speak the language from around here?’
‘Yes. And Yaraldi and Pitjantjatjara too.’
‘What’s your other name?’
‘Spencer.’
‘That’s not your Yaraldi name, is it?’
‘No. White fellers can’t say my name. Too many syllables. They give me civilised name.’
‘I hope you don’t mind me asking these questions.’
‘No, missus.’
‘May I ask why you came here?’
‘There wasn’t any work on the mission for an educated blackfeller like me. I worked for a while as a storeman in Adelaide but then I got fed up with the city and headed north. Got a job as a ringer at a station near Alice Springs, then I met the Dimbulah Downs manager. After he saw me riding, he offered me a job as a stockman here.’
Harriet looked at Mick but he was staring ahead. Although the fading light made it impossible to make out his expression, it reduced his strong head to its essentials. For the first time in some weeks, for she’d neither sketched nor painted since arriving at Dimbulah Downs, she felt the urge to find a pencil and paper. She would like to draw his profile: the high forehead and the sharp angle at which this cut back to his eye sockets. Briefly she wondered if he would think she was viewing him as a curiosity but dismissed that notion. He’d noticed her sketching all manner of things on the trip south from Palmerston, and he’d certainly observed her drawing of Port Darwin. She wondered what he’d done with that; probably consigned it to the rubbish where it belonged.
As if sensing the direction of her thoughts, he said, ‘There’s a beautiful gorge down river from here that I could take you to one day, you and boss’ missus. You might like to sketch it.’
‘I would love that. Thank you, Mick.’ To her surprise, she found that, by accepting this gift he was offering, she was now able to talk of her painting. She told him how she’d been unable to draw or paint since she’d arrived at Dimbulah Downs, so overwhelmed had she been by this landscape. She talked continuously, as if the dam wall had burst that had been holding back any expression of her feelings. Mick didn’t interrupt, but simply interspersed the occasional sound, no more than a grunt really, that indicated he was listening. Then she told him that, while she missed her own country – so small and green with its cities dirty and crowded – she now feared that, wherever she travelled, there would be no place she could truly call home.
‘I know where my country is,’ he said. ‘It’s the Coorong.’ He chiselled at a loose piece of wood on the eroded railing of the fence, until it splintered off and fell to the ground. After a few moments he said, ‘Soon I’ll take you and boss’ missus to the gorge. And you’ll need to bring your paints as well as your pencils, because when you see it you’ll want to paint again.’
The dinner bell rang, putting an end to their conversation. Harriet began to stroll towards the homestead, aware of Mick by her side. As they got closer, the dinner bell rang a second time. By the time it had stopped, and she turned to speak to him, she discovered that he’d already gone. There was no sign of him anywhere; it was almost as if he’d never been by her side.
Of all the people she’d met since leaving London, she thought as she reached the kitchen block, it was Mick she felt most comfortable with.
Chapter 28
You Must Be Vigilant at All Times
‘The revolvers are for the snakes,’ Henry explained to Harriet again.
Sarah avoided looking at her sister, who was not taking gun practice with the seriousness it deserved.
‘Yes, Henry,’ Harriet replied. ‘You’ve told me that before.’
‘You have to keep practising.’
‘I practised yesterday and when I aimed at the fence post I shot the eucalyptus tree, so I’m getting better. That was only one yard away from the target.’
‘Anyone can hit the target if they concentrate and work at it.’
‘Yes, Henry. I shall do that. Though Mick says snakes are timid and will mostly slither off.’
‘Mostly, Harriet. You know what mostly means.’
‘Yes, I do.’ Harriet grinned at Sarah w
ho looked away. She didn’t want Henry to think they were making fun of him.
‘You must carry the revolvers everywhere.’
‘We will, I promise,’ Sarah said.
‘You never know when you’ll come across a poisonous snake,’ Henry continued. His brow was furrowed again. ‘The taipans are the worst. I wish I had time before the cattle drive to give you more instruction but…’
‘There are simply not enough hours in the day,’ Harriet concluded, laughing.
For the past week, Henry had given Harriet daily training sessions in the far corner of the home paddock. Speed and accuracy, he’d exhorted both sisters during these sessions. Indeed, so often had he repeated this mantra that Harriet had started saying ‘Speed and accuracy’ whenever she saw him. ‘Speed and accuracy,’ she now repeated.
‘It’s no joke,’ Henry said with dignity. ‘You must be vigilant at all times while I’m away.’
A month before, when Henry had first mentioned the cattle drive, Sarah had wanted to accompany him. But she had been easily dissuaded. Harriet had said – and Sarah suspected this was at Henry’s behest – that she needed Sarah’s company, and that there was no way she herself could bear to travel again to Palmerston so soon after the last trip. Even if she felt strong enough to face the matrons of Palmerston, she’d only recently recovered from her saddle sores. However, what had really deterred Sarah was her suspicion that she would hold up progress. Henry had to get 500 head of cattle to Port Darwin quickly to fulfil their part of the Goldsborough Mort contract with Java. While the Dimbulah Downs cattle were free of tick fever, he wanted to move them fast; he wanted to be without the worry that they might end up worthless and that he would be held responsible.
She looked at his anxious expression as he spoke to Harriet, and said, ‘We will be vigilant at all times, Henry.’ The last thing she wanted was for him to fret about what might happen at the homestead as well as about the cattle.
‘At all times,’ Harriet repeated.
Apparently mollified, Henry strode off to find Smithy and Mick. Harriet fired another round in the direction of the target. Once Henry was out of sight, she put down the revolver and began to laugh. ‘Your husband will never make a markswoman out of me.’
‘I think he knows that,’ Sarah said. ‘But you really must try harder, Hattie. Here, let me show you how to hold the revolver again.’
‘Forget it, Sarah. You spend too much time firing the blasted thing.’ After putting the gun on the ground by her feet, Harriet shook her hands vigorously before massaging her right wrist.
‘Do I?’ Sarah said. ‘I find it quite satisfying. It must be the hand-eye coordination.’
‘Good god, is that what excites you?’
‘And the popping. It’s a bit like playing an instrument,’ Sarah said, laughing.
Harriet raised an eyebrow. ‘What on earth are you doing with your life out here?’
‘It’s just for six months. Such an interesting experience.’
‘So I see. And do you plan to stay in Australia?’
‘Henry does.’
‘And you?’
‘What is this, the Spanish Inquisition?’ For a moment Sarah wished Harriet was going on the cattle drive with Henry. She could do with some peace. The truth was that she had no idea of what she wanted for the future; sometimes she felt it was a farm in Suffolk, sometimes a house in London, once or twice she’d even thought of how pleasant it might be to farm on the south coast of New South Wales. She and Henry hadn’t talked about their prospects since arriving at Dimbulah Downs. He’d been kept too busy and she’d wanted to delay the conflict between them that she suspected was inevitable.
‘I’m your sister. Don’t I have a right to ask if you want to remain in Australia?’
‘I don’t know. Henry and I do love this country, and he said months ago he would like to stay.’
‘It’s always what Henry wants to do.’
‘Is it? He’s the one who can get the work. He’s the one who inherited the money.’
‘Do you resent that? That Father didn’t leave you much? You could always come back with me. I’ll share it all with you.’
Sarah hesitated, surprised by the question. Did she mind that Father hadn’t shared his estate equally with both his daughters? This had never occurred to her before. Since her marriage she’d generally felt cared for and comfortably off. In contrast, she viewed Harriet as being uncomfortably off, with her fierce desire for independence uneasily allied with her goal to improve the world, and both of these warring with her need for love. No, of course Sarah didn’t mind the terms of the will. It was a relief to know that Harriet was well-provided for. In all probability her conflicting ambitions would never be reconciled. But if ever the skirmish were to end, Sarah felt that independence would be the victor, and Harriet’s desire for love would be left wounded on the battlefield.
She became aware of Harriet scrutinising her and realised that her hesitation would give a misleading impression. At once she said, ‘Of course I didn’t mind, Hattie. But thank you for thinking of it. And I don’t want to leave Henry. I love him and I married him for better or for worse.’
‘But if you ever did want to leave, Sarah, you only have to say the word.’
Sarah decided to turn the questioning around. She said, ‘You don’t like it here, Hattie, do you?’
‘I’m not saying that. I love it here in some ways. But is it really the life for a well-educated music lover like you?’
‘It’s an experience. I told you that before. I’ve learned a lot about all sorts of things.’
‘Well, remember it’s your life to live, your dreams to follow, not just Henry’s. Where do you want to be eventually?’
‘When I settle down, is that what you mean?’ Sarah couldn’t keep the sharpness out of her voice. ‘I don’t know yet. I’m barely twenty-one. But I do love the light in Australia.’
‘Is that a reason to stay?’
‘You’d understand that surely, Hattie. You’re the artist of the family.’
‘I’ve given up since arriving at Dimbulah Downs.’
‘Oh dear, have we done that to you? I hope not.’ Sarah picked up the revolver from the ground. After releasing the safety catch she fired one shot at the can on the top of the fence post. The can clattered to the ground. ‘Not bad,’ she said.
‘I’d call it perfect,’ Harriet said.
‘Thank you. For your compliment and for your offer.’
‘It annoyed you, didn’t it? I’m sorry if I upset you.’
‘You didn’t.’ Sarah spoke as lightly as she could, although she was still irritated with Harriet for suggesting that she could abandon Henry to Australia. ‘Let’s go inside,’ she said. ‘This is enough of serious things for one afternoon.’
Yet what she wanted was some time to absorb what Harriet had said. Would she really consider leaving Henry if things got bad? It was reassuring to know that there was an outside option if they did. She was immensely grateful to Harriet for providing that, and yet she didn’t want Harriet to see the extent of her relief. If she did, she might get the wrong idea about her marriage to Henry.
Nor did she understand quite why her gratitude was so great. Her subconscious self might have been agitating about how she might survive if she were to leave Henry. Yes, that must have been the case, and she found this deeply unsettling.
* * *
Sarah struggled to sit up in bed. She had woken earlier, when Henry had arisen, well before first light. Yet despite her intention to have breakfast with him before he left, here he was, fully dressed and ready to go. He put a mug of tea on the bedside table – a crude affair, roughly hewn from termite-resistant bloodwood – and sat on the edge of the bed.
She rubbed her eyes. These past few weeks she’d felt so tired, going to bed early
and even once falling asleep over dinner, with her chin cupped in her hands and her elbows resting on the table, and her meal untasted on the plate in front of her.
She felt Henry gently touch her lips. Harriet’s words of the previous afternoon had spun themselves into a fine veil that hid his features. She blinked and the veil was gone. Why should she take any notice of Harriet’s opinions? She was living her own life and not her sister’s. Smiling, she raised her arms to pull his face down to her own.
‘I’ve got to leave,’ he said at last. ‘I’ve told Mick to stay behind, and of course Bob.’
‘But don’t you need them both?’
‘Bob’s not crucial and his leg still hasn’t fully healed. And there are some odd-jobs he can do around the homestead.’
‘But Mick’s crucial.’
‘We’ve got Smithy and plenty of other good stockmen,’ he said. ‘They’re nearly as competent. I want Mick to keep an eye on things here.’
‘Why?’
Henry opened and shut his mouth without any words coming out.
‘Why, Henry?’
‘I’ve just heard some bad news.’ He hesitated, making that mouth like a goldfish’s again.
‘What news? Say it quickly, Henry. I’m thinking the worst.’
‘Carruthers shot an Aborigine. One of the wild blacks west of Empty Creek.’
‘But why?’
‘He claimed they’d been stealing his cattle. They probably had, but you can’t really blame them. They’ve got to eat. You’ve got to be prepared for some losses of cattle. And he treats the black fellows so badly.’
‘Are you quite sure he did it? It’s one thing to treat them badly, quite another to murder one of them.’
‘I’m afraid it’s true, Sarah. I heard it from Tommy who got back late last night. He saw it happen. Things could get bad at Empty Creek if the blacks retaliate. I’ve sent a man to the telegraph repeater station to report it.’
The police would do nothing, she knew. She began to feel an anger so cold it made her shiver. She buried her face in Henry’s chest.