The Philosopher's Daughters

by Alison Booth

  ‘I’ll leave it to you to tell Harriet and Ah Soy,’ Henry said.

  ‘Won’t Ah Soy have already heard?’

  ‘No. Just Tommy and Mick know so far. Mick will tell Bob. Are you sure you’re happy about being left behind? Remember you once said you wanted to accompany me everywhere?’

  She might have thought he was joking had she not seen the seriousness of his expression. She said, ‘Only last week we spoke of this again, and we agreed it was best for me to stay here with Harriet.’ The truth was that she no longer had the smallest desire to go on the cattle drive. She didn’t especially like Palmerston, and she was tired, oh so tired. The presence of Bob and Mick would surely keep Carruthers in line if he decided to make a visit to Dimbulah Downs.

  ‘Mick will keep an eye on Harriet,’ Henry said. ‘She needs to be watched. She’s inclined to wander about a bit and there are all sorts of people passing through here now the boom’s over. You never know what sort of trouble she’ll get into; you’ve said as much yourself. And she trusts Mick.’ He looked at her intently before adding, ‘Promise me you won’t forget to take your revolver with you whenever you go out. Harriet must too.’

  Of course,’ Sarah said. ‘I promised you that yesterday, and you know I always keep a promise.’

  After Henry left, Sarah unfastened the shutters. The early morning air felt cool and she pulled a shawl around her shoulders. Although the mob of cattle was already some way north of the homestead, she could hear their bellowing overlaid by the staccato calls of the stockmen, and occasionally the crack of a stockwhip. She watched Henry gallop along the track to catch up, until eventually he became a small speck, one of the dots of men and horses encircling the dust-shrouded mob.

  Carruthers killing a wild black; she couldn’t get the thought out of her mind. She felt suddenly faint, and an instant later nauseous. After lurching outside, she leaned over the edge of the verandah and vomited on to the hard ground. Again and again she retched, until all that remained in her mouth was the bitter taste of bile.

  When she felt slightly better, she took the water pitcher from her bedroom. After rinsing her mouth, she poured the remaining water on to the ground and retrieved one of the buckets of sand standing by the verandah. Quickly she tipped this over the earth. Back in her bedroom, she ran her hands lightly over her breasts. They were swollen and slightly tender to the touch. She was definitely putting on weight and she was almost certainly pregnant.

  She felt a twinge of guilt that she hadn’t told Henry before he left. He would have been delighted but she feared he would have insisted on her going with him to Port Darwin and leaving her there for the duration of the pregnancy. She didn’t want to leave Dimbulah Downs yet. She was feeling well and healthy, if a little tired. There was no need to leave until just before the wet season started.

  Although it was time to get dressed, she felt so exhausted that she crawled back into bed and pulled the covers up around her chin. A moment later she fell into a deep sleep.

  When she woke, it was to the sound of Harriet and Ah Soy talking on the verandah. She felt exhausted still, and her usual good spirits were sorely absent. Absent like Henry: she began to count up all the days and the weeks to be endured without him. She rolled on to her face and pulled the pillow over her head. Still she could hear Harriet and Ah Soy, so distinctly they might almost be in the room with her. Later she would have to share with Harriet the news about Carruthers, but for the moment she wished her sister and Ah Soy a long way away so she could continue sleeping.

  ‘Very big,’ Ah Soy said.

  ‘The biggest I’ve ever seen,’ Harriet said. ‘We could eat it now, I suppose. It does look delicious.’

  ‘Good flavour,’ Ah Soy agreed. But his voice was not enthusiastic.

  ‘They lose their flavour when they get too big.’

  ‘Missie know best.’

  ‘But it does seem rather a shame to think of picking it,’ Harriet said. ‘It’s quite tempting to leave it for a while longer. I’ve never seen such a big one and it would be nice to see how large it might grow, by way of an experiment. We could measure it daily.’

  ‘Water daily too.’

  ‘I’ve seen you do it twice daily,’ Harriet said, laughing.

  ‘Best ever seen. Best you ever see, Missie?’

  ‘It’s by far and away the best I’ve ever seen. We don’t grow them like this in England.’

  At last Harriet’s being positive, Sarah thought, and her anxiety dissipated slightly. It was Ah Soy’s cabbage, of course, the one that he’d been talking about for weeks. The notion of Harriet becoming animated about a Northern Territory vegetable greatly pleased her.

  ‘I think we might defer the picking of the cabbage in the interests of science, Ah Soy,’ Harriet was now saying.

  ‘Pick later,’ Ah Soy agreed.

  Sarah removed the pillow from her head and sat up. After struggling out of bed, she gathered up Henry’s pyjamas that he’d left in a bundle on the covers. She sniffed them: how was it that Henry’s sweat smelt so delicious and the stockmen’s so awful? She would make sure they weren’t washed until he returned. For a moment she wondered if he were already missing her; but no, he wouldn’t be thinking of her yet, he had far too much to do.

  She put Henry’s pyjamas into a drawer so that Daisy wouldn’t scoop them up to be washed. Obsessed by washing, Daisy immediately removed any garment left lying around and carried it off to be sorted into one of the laundry bags hanging on pegs in the outhouse next to the coppers. Every second day she would enquire, ‘Today washem clothes, missus?’ It was because of the swimming afterwards; the final rinsing of some of the garments in the waterhole. ‘Washing day is on Monday,’ Sarah would reply, but Daisy always lived in hope that she might one day change her mind.

  Sarah pulled on her dressing gown, collected a towel and her sponge bag, and went out on to the verandah. The morning air was fresh and the dust from the departure of the cattle had long settled. Half a dozen small children were kicking something around beyond the windmill. Bella and Daisy were showering in the hessian-screened enclosure, enjoying it as they always did, as they enjoyed everything. She wondered if they’d heard the news of what Carruthers had done. She wondered what changes Carruthers’ crime might bring to their lives and to the lives of people living on other cattle stations.

  After plucking one of Henry’s old hats from a peg on the verandah, she jammed it on her head. Before slipping her feet into her riding boots, she checked that no insects or reptiles had chosen to settle in them overnight. Henry would be away for six weeks at least. She’d have to take one day at a time. It would be a struggle but she would try to take pleasure in small things: the beauty of the morning light, the long shadows cast by the trees, the honking of a flock of pied geese rising from the billabong. The laughter of Bella and Daisy, and the measured conversation of Harriet and Ah Soy working amongst the vegetables.

  Chapter 29

  Sarah’s Shooting Practice

  How wonderfully quiet the homestead seemed, Harriet thought, once the mob had left and the bulldust had settled at last. Sitting in the kitchen she watched Ah Soy busying himself at the range; he seemed in holiday spirits too at the departure of the mob and the success of his cabbage.

  ‘Two egg, Missie?’ His question was redundant, for as he spoke he slid the plate in front of her and stood back, hands clasped in front of his chest, to watch her reaction.

  ‘Delicious,’ she said around her first mouthful.

  ‘Cake this afternoon. Plenty egg.’

  From somewhere about the homestead buildings she could hear Daisy and Bella singing, and was amused when she recognised the melody as the Fauré duet that once she had hated so much: all that endless practising in Gower Street when Sarah and Henry were getting to know one another through music. How long ago that now seemed and how far the music
had travelled.

  When Sarah appeared, she looked dishevelled: her hair wet and uncombed, and she was still in her dressing gown. Her expression was anxious, Harriet thought. More anxious than she’d expected even allowing for Henry’s departure. Once Sarah had seated herself at the kitchen table, Harriet strode across to the doorway and stood there, her back turned to the room. Squinting against the harsh light, she waited for the reaction. When she heard Sarah’s barely suppressed laughter, she turned.

  ‘What’s the matter, Sarah?’

  ‘Nothing, Hattie. It’s simply that you look ever so slightly different.’

  ‘Do I?’ Pleased, Harriet smoothed down her trousers. This was the first time she’d worn them, and it would take her a while to become used to their freedom. Perhaps they were a little baggy, for she seemed to have lost weight since she’d had them made, but on the other hand this was an advantage, for it meant that the contents of the numerous pockets wouldn’t press in upon her.

  ‘You look so funny,’ Sarah said, grinning. ‘Not that they don’t suit you. They do. It’s just a bit of a surprise.’

  ‘Good.’ Harriet had chosen today for their first appearance to distract Sarah and it was certainly having the desired effect. ‘I feel like a new woman.’

  ‘Or a new man?’

  ‘No, a new woman. Don’t you know that women are wearing trousers for cycling now? I thought you were a keen follower of fashion.’

  ‘I saw those pictures in the Illustrated London News but they were a bit different to yours. They were more baggy bloomers than trousers.’

  ‘I had these made by the Chinese tailor in Cavanagh Street to my own specifications.’

  Sarah smiled. ‘I love you, Hattie. You’re like a tonic.’

  ‘One that does you good but tastes horrid?’

  ‘Your medicine never tastes horrid. Well, hardly ever. When it does, I hold my nose and swallow.’

  ‘Without a protest?’ Harriet said, laughing. ‘I’m glad you don’t do that, Sarah.’

  Ah Soy poured more hot water in the teapot. Sipping her tea, Harriet decided to take advantage of her new trousers and the stockmen’s absence to try riding astride. It would be such liberation compared with perching on a side saddle. ‘Would you like to try riding astride this morning?’ she asked Sarah. ‘You could wear a pair of Henry’s trousers.’

  ‘No,’ said Sarah. ‘I don’t want to get saddle sores in different spots. Anyway, I don’t want to ride today. Let’s go for a walk along the river.’

  Harriet shrugged her shoulders. She’d seen the way the Aboriginal stock women rode, as fast and as carefree as the men, and she wanted to experience this for herself. Then she noticed that Sarah’s forehead had creased and she was drumming with her fingers on the tabletop. ‘A walk by the river would be lovely,’ she said, placing her hand on Sarah’s shoulder. ‘Let’s go as soon as you’re dressed.’

  * * *

  Strolling with Sarah across the home paddock, Harriet watched the red dust swirl around her ankles and settle on the tops of her boots. Sarah seemed distracted; she stumbled on a tussock and might have fallen if Harriet hadn’t taken her arm and guided her towards the track that followed the course of the river. Her face looked slightly feverish, a bright pink spot on each cheek. Lightly Harriet touched her sister’s forehead: her temperature seemed normal. The fever’s emotional not physical, she thought, perhaps Sarah should have gone with Henry.

  For an instant, Harriet felt a sharp pang of envy at their intimacy. Yet why should she? There was no one she wished to be close to. Mostly that was a blessing: no one to tell her what to do, no one to disapprove of her. But no one to approve of her either; no one to support her the way Father always had.

  When they reached the first in the sequence of rock pools, bordered by casuarina trees, Sarah stopped. ‘Let’s sit,’ she said, plonking herself on to a wide leaf-littered rock at the edge of the track. As she raised her arm to wipe her forehead on her sleeve, Harriet saw that her hand was shaking.

  ‘What’s the matter?’

  ‘There’s something I need to tell you.’ Sarah scowled at the green, slow-flowing water in the river below the path.

  At that moment Harriet was distracted by a movement in the pool that was furthest away. Someone was swimming, cutting gracefully through the water in an energetic overarm. Though the figure was too far distant to identify, she thought it looked a bit like Mick. Yet it couldn’t have been Mick, she knew he’d gone with the mob that morning. Averting her eyes, she said, ‘What is it, Sarah?’

  ‘Something that Henry mentioned just before he left this morning.’

  They’ve had an argument, Harriet thought. Perhaps it had been a mistake to mention Father’s will yesterday, not long before Henry left on the cattle drive. She should have had the tact to wait a bit. After plucking a small branch from a shrub, she used it to flick a layer of dead leaves off a section of rock. ‘What is it?’

  ‘It’s about Carruthers.’

  ‘Carruthers?’ Harriet sat down next to Sarah and sighed. She’d hoped to hear no more of this man.

  ‘Yes. Tommy, one of the ringers, got back late last night with some news. That’s why Mick isn’t going with the mob.’

  ‘Mick’s staying?’ She glanced at the furthest pool but the swimmer had gone. ‘You’d better tell me what’s happened.’

  ‘It’s something horrible.’ Sarah hesitated for a few seconds, before blurting out, ‘Carruthers shot an Aborigine, Harriet. One of the wild blacks west of Empty Creek. They’d been spearing his cattle.’

  ‘Does Tommy know that for sure? Carruthers told me he’d shot dozens of Aborigines when I met him but I didn’t believe him. He seemed like the sort who’d boast about something in order to shock you.’

  ‘You didn’t believe him, Harriet?’ Sarah’s voice sounded loud and far too high. ‘But you told me at the cricket match about all those massacres. They’d be by men just like Carruthers.’

  ‘I know that’s how the cattle runs were first established ten or twenty years ago but I thought it was confined to the Kimberley these days.’

  ‘Confined to the Kimberley these days! Who’s being innocent now? It might be over at places like Dimbulah Downs but not at Empty Creek.’

  ‘But there’s a Territory police commissioner and police.’

  ‘You said at the cricket match there was one law for the whites and one for the blacks, and you were right. Henry’s arranged for the murder to be reported at the telegraph station but you can bet the police will do nothing.’ Sarah picked up a twig from the ground next to her scuffed boots and began to break it methodically into small pieces, though her hands were still shaking. ‘The wild blacks might do something in retaliation though.’

  ‘The wild blacks?’

  ‘Yes, the ones south-west of Empty Creek. The ones that haven’t been pacificated. I’m really worried.’

  ‘They won’t do anything to us, Sarah.’

  ‘You think so?’

  ‘Yes, I’m sure so. Why should they? And anyway, what can we do? There’s no point worrying about it.’ Yet, despite her calm words, she heard her own heartbeats, too loud and too fast.

  ‘But they might do something to Carruthers, don’t you see? Then there’ll be reprisals. That might affect our people.’ Sarah threw away the last fragment of twig and waved an arm in the direction of Dimbulah Downs homestead. ‘Or Carruthers might come back for Bella. And if he does, the locals will retaliate, I know.’

  ‘He won’t.’

  ‘You told me how he’d been making eyes at her. And she’s afraid of him.’

  ‘He wouldn’t dare take her.’

  ‘But Henry’s away with most of the men.’

  ‘You said Mick’s staying here, and there’s Bob and Ah Soy too.’

  ‘But…’ Sarah hes
itated, and Harriet observed near her collarbone a pulsing vein that was surely beating too fast. ‘Do you ever think we should take the law into our own hands, Hattie?’

  ‘No, I don’t. I think we should change the way it’s implemented but not administer it ourselves.’

  ‘The Aborigines have their own system of law. Bella’s told me about it.’

  ‘Yes, I know.’

  ‘And you don’t think that should be stopped?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘You’re confusing me. How can we have two systems of law?’ Sarah stood up, the better to aim a kick at a small stone on the pathway. She winced as it turned out to be embedded in the path.

  ‘But they’re both aiming at the same thing. Justice. If a black man spears Carruthers now, he’s acting justly.’

  ‘By their law, not ours,’ Sarah said.

  ‘Does it matter?’

  ‘I’m getting even more puzzled,’ Sarah said irritably. ‘This is all far too much for one day, Harriet. Do let’s talk of something else.’ She raised her hands in front of her, fingers splayed as if she might be about to play the piano. They were steady now; how quickly Sarah could control herself.

  * * *

  Late afternoon sunlight filtered through the eucalypts; Harriet, on a chair on the verandah, buried herself in a book, until she was distracted by a movement down by the stockyard. Peering through the glare, she saw Sarah talking animatedly to Mick. A few moments later, Mick hauled a plank of wood on to a couple of trestles. Once this was positioned to Sarah’s evident satisfaction, the two of them fetched a wheelbarrow from near the woodpile and loaded it with short lengths of wood. Mick trundled the barrow off to the trestles, and he and Sarah lined the blocks upright along the length of the plank. Soon after, Mick walked towards the men’s quarters, apparently dismissed from further involvement in whatever activity Sarah had in mind.

  For a few moments Sarah stood and sized up the line of blocks. Arranged in order of height, they might be a musical instrument, Harriet thought, although they were not hollow. At any moment Sarah might pull out a drumstick and start beating.