The Philosopher's Daughters

by Alison Booth

  Riding back towards the homestead, she saw a cloud of white cockatoos in the distance, advancing fast, as if blown by the wind. Once the birds were overhead, their squawking drowned out even the sound of the river. Their bodies looked bloated, she thought dispassionately as if she were seeing this for the first time, and far too heavy for their wings. It was a miracle they stayed aloft. Wheeling over the billabong, they seemed at first to be making for the dead tree, before veering sharply to the right and descending on the ghost gum adjacent to the camp. As of one mind, they methodically began to strip the tree of leaves and small branches, and to discard these on to the ground, so that in the space of just a few minutes it was littered with debris.

  She and Mick reined in their horses and watched the cockatoos attack the eucalypt. At last, as if bored by their own destructiveness, the birds moved to the dead tree that was their usual perch and began their evening ritual of jockeying for position.

  White people are like that, Harriet thought; we might destroy this country.

  Chapter 33

  ‘Something Comin’, Missus’

  Several days later, Sarah, who had been collecting eggs with Ah Soy, gave up the search to watch as Bella walked towards them carrying something. It looked like a small canoe, no more than two feet long, with curved sides.

  ‘Carryem newfellow piccaninny,’ Bella said when she was a few yards away.

  ‘It’s beautiful.’ The coolamon was decorated on the outside in an intricate design in yellow, white and ochre.

  Bella smiled, displaying all of her teeth. ‘For missus.’

  Taking the coolamon, Sarah found she was laughing and crying at the same time. From nowhere Bella produced a ring made out of twisted grass and white feathers and placed it on Sarah’s head. After stepping back to admire the effect, she gently appropriated the canoe and placed it on the ring. It felt to Sarah surprisingly light. She wiped her face with the back of her hand and tottered a few steps with the cradle balanced precariously on top of her head. Bella began to giggle.

  ‘My crowning glory,’ said Sarah, laughing again. ‘Clearly I need more practice. Thank you, Bella, I really love this and my baby will love it too. You couldn’t have given me a nicer present.’ When she saw Bella’s puzzlement she understood that the canoe was not a gift. Rather it was an affirmation of kinship. Kinship obligations tied her to Bella and Bella to her, in ways that she still didn’t fully understand.

  * * *

  Sarah thought that only in Bella’s company could she laugh. Away from Bella, her general anxiety expanded as she grew more and more tired. Getting through the chores, and the day, required a disproportionate amount of effort, leaving her exhausted.

  She watched her sister, lounging in a battered planter’s chair on the verandah. Harriet seemed oblivious to Sarah’s inspection. She read fast, the pages of her novel flipping over to the accompaniment of Bob’s tuneless humming as he plaited thin strips of wallaby hide to form a stockwhip handle. Mick, his back supported by a verandah post, was reading one of the Adelaide newspapers that had arrived in the last mail delivery.

  ‘Did you read that article about the Adult Suffrage Bill?’ Harriet said to Mick, looking up from her book.

  ‘It passed the Legislative Council,’ Mick said.

  ‘Now it’s got to get through the House of Assembly,’ Harriet said. ‘Hello, Sarah, I didn’t see you there, you came up so quietly. There are so many articles in the South Australian newspapers about the suffragists, but hardly any in the Northern Territory Times.’

  ‘You know how slow that steamship journey is,’ Sarah said feeling slightly irritated with her sister.

  ‘Someone comin’, missus.’ Mick pointed to the track leading into the home paddock.

  Sarah stood abruptly. A slight swirl of red dust was all that she could see. It was too soon for the mailman but it might be Henry. Squinting against the glare, she felt infused with hope.

  ‘It’s Aidan back again,’ Mick said. ‘Must have run out of stores real quick.’ He stepped off the verandah and strode across the yard to meet him.

  Aidan slid off his horse and conferred briefly with Mick. Grim-faced, the two of them walked through the dust towards the homestead. ‘What’s the trouble, Aidan?’ Sarah called.

  ‘Bad news, missus.’

  ‘What is it?’ Please not Henry, she thought. Let it be anyone else but Henry.

  ‘It’s Carruthers.’

  ‘Carruthers?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘What’s he done?’

  Aidan gulped and tried to speak but only managed a croak. He was ashen-faced, his clothes drenched with sweat, his beard unshaven. He took off his hat and fanned himself with it.

  ‘Spit it out, mate,’ Bob said.

  ‘Let me get you some water.’ Harriet removed the canvas water bag kept hanging from one of the rafters, unscrewed the cap and poured some water into it.

  After Aidan had drained the cap, he began to talk. ‘We was ridin’ south, me and Curly, on the track of some cleanskins that needed brandin’. We didn’t want the Empty Creek mob to run them off. You know how hard it is to track them down, no fences, no nothin’. Hard to know who owns what if they’re not branded. We saw in the distance some black fellers camped. I said to Curly we’d better check up on them, maybe they knows somethin’ we don’t, about who’s been roundin’ up our calves. They was havin’ a right good feed. Looked like one of our bullocks they was tuckin’ into, but we didn’t say nothin’. That’s what the boss tells us to do. Don’t want no war, he says. Let them have the odd bullock or two if it keeps the peace.’

  Aidan’s voice cracked, and Harriet poured some more water for him. After a few seconds, he continued, ‘The blacks hadn’t seen no duffers, so we went on our way. Camped out overnight, after we found a few unmarked bullocks. We was takin’ them back the way we come when who should we see but Carruthers and some of his men.

  ‘“G’day, Aid,” Carruthers says, cool as can be, though it looked like he had a few of our steers in his muster. “Seen any black fellers around?” “Yes,” I says, “we got some workin’ back at the camp.” “Seen any other black fellers?” he says, crackin’ his stockwhip. “The bastards have taken one of my bullocks.” “Can’t say I have,” I says, annoyed like, because them black fellers weren’t eatin’ no Empty Creek stock. It was a Dimbulah Downs steer they butchered, I’d swear, and we was on Dimbulah Downs land too. But I didn’t want no trouble.

  ‘So off Carruthers trots with his mob, takin’ no more notice of us. “Don’t go that way,” I says quickly. I didn’t like the mean look on his face and I seen that he’d pulled out a pistol. “No one along there,” I says. But he kept right on goin’, towards where we saw the black fellers the day before. Then I heard a yell that made me hair stand on end. I twisted round and there was Carruthers with a ruddy big spear stickin’ out of his back. He slid off his saddle slow like, and fell to the ground. And you know, there wasn’t a black feller in sight, not a single one.’

  ‘So you didn’t see who did it?’ Sarah said.

  ‘No, they was invisible like. No way me and Curly can say who did it because we didn’t see nothin’. Then all hell broke loose, with Carruthers’ blokes firin’ in all directions. Me and Curly lay low for a bit, hopin’ we wasn’t going to get a spear in our backs or a bullet in our heads. After things had quietened down, we came out of the bushes and saw Carruthers still lyin’ on the ground. In a pool of blood, all black it looked against the red earth, with Dan Brady bent over him. That daft cove was tryin’ to pull out the spear and there was tears on his cheeks. But Carruthers was already dead.’

  ‘Then what happened?’

  ‘Brady and one of the ringers managed to pull the spear out, and they slung the body over the back of a horse. Tied it on with a bit of rope. Their mob was takin’ it back to Empty Creek Station.
Brady didn’t go, though. He sent a young feller to the telegraph repeater station, and said he was goin’ to look around for a bit. He was angrier than a mad bull by then. Said them murderin’ black fellers had put him out of a friend and a job.’ He paused for another swig of water.

  ‘What did you do then?’ Bob said.

  ‘Me and Curly boiled the billy and tried to calm him down. Told him our boss would be back soon and he’d know what to do. That made him go all quiet, like he was thinkin’. After a bit, he left and we mustered our bullocks again, they’d stampeded with all the shootin’ and shoutin’. When we found as many as we could we drove them back to the stock camp. I changed my horse and rode straight here. Rode all night. Lucky there was a full moon.’

  ‘You’ve done well,’ Sarah said. ‘I’m sure Henry will think so.’

  ‘What’s going to happen now?’ Harriet said.

  ‘I think we know how it will be,’ Bob said. ‘The troopers will come from Palmerston. They’ll bring black trackers from somewhere else to find the Empty Creek mob. They’ll promise the trackers a pardon for whatever they were in gaol for, and then they’ll pick out some black fellows – any black fellows – from Empty Creek and take them to Fannie Bay Gaol. That’s how it will go.’

  Sarah sat down abruptly. For the first time she felt her baby move, the tiniest little flutter. This flicker of hope was instantly overwhelmed by fear. The frontier war was still being fought, and it had taken her months to realise it.

  * * *

  Sarah wished Harriet would say something, instead of sitting staring at the salt cellar, as if it held the answer to everything. Harriet might as well be in another country for all the notice she was taking of Sarah’s attempts to start a conversation. Not about Carruthers, she didn’t want to talk about that, but there were a hundred and one other things they could discuss as a distraction.

  When at last the meal was over, Harriet stood up and stretched.

  ‘You’re not going walking this evening, are you Hattie? Not after what’s happened.’

  ‘Why shouldn’t I?’

  ‘But after Carruthers getting speared, aren’t you worried?’

  ‘Of course I’m upset about what happened and I’m worried about the troopers coming.’

  ‘But aren’t you concerned about your own safety?’

  ‘No, why should I be? We get on well with the Dimbulah Downs Aborigines. I doubt if I’m going to get a spear in my back. Bella certainly wouldn’t do it, and her clan wouldn’t do it either.’

  ‘It’s no joking matter, Harriet.’

  ‘What else do you expect me to do? Hang around the homestead waiting for Henry to come back?’

  ‘Is that what you think I’m doing, hanging around the homestead waiting for Henry to come back?’

  ‘Well, you are, aren’t you? You’re expecting him to come galloping in any moment now. There’s nothing wrong with that. And the sooner the better.’

  ‘I’m glad it meets with your approval.’

  ‘Sarah, we’ve got nothing to fear at Dimbulah Downs. The trouble lies elsewhere. Carruthers is dead and I reckon none of us here is sorry.’

  ‘No, none of us is sorry.’ For barely an instant Sarah wondered if she should feel guilty at this. Carruthers was a human being, after all, and someone’s son. ‘Please stay, Harriet.’

  ‘No, Sarah. I’m not going to change anything I do.’ Harriet plucked her hat from the hook by the door, although the homestead paddock was largely in shadow. ‘I always go for a walk at this time of day,’ she said. ‘And I intend to go out painting tomorrow too, and the day after, and the day after that. I see no reason to change my habits because of Carruthers’ fate.’

  Sarah watched her wander across the grass. You still sound like Father sometimes, she thought bitterly. Ever so slightly pompous. There’s no reason to change your habits because Mick is already waiting for you. At the usual spot, as he always is. And tomorrow the two of you will be off painting again, leaving me to wait for Henry’s return.

  Chapter 34

  We None of Us Can Win

  The trees, glowing in the early morning light, seemed unusually still. Harriet, perched on a flat boulder at the edge of the hollow, listened to the silence and felt uneasy. Not a bird was calling, not a leaf was moving. The bush seemed to be waiting for something to happen.

  Yet her disquiet could be a part of the anxiety she’d been feeling for the past few days, ever since Aidan had told them of Carruthers’ death. Wanting to conceal her apprehension from Sarah, she’d tried to carry on as usual. Sarah was already worrying too much and that couldn’t be good for the baby.

  Maybe the bush had been expectant like this for thousands of years. All that occurred were the changes of season, year after year. The rising then falling of the water, the dropping of leaves and nuts, the shedding of long strips of bark, and occasionally – a major event this – the crashing of a gum tree as it fell to the ground.

  The dry depression in front of her was littered with rocks and other debris. In the wet season it would be a lush green pool connected to the creek through the small eroded gully. The light defining the disorder of this place fascinated her. You never saw this sort of a view in England.

  The landscape as untidiness, she’d told Mick ten minutes earlier. He’d laughed, and she guessed he found her perspective strange. But this was what she aimed to draw, and why she hadn’t gone with him further down the creek to paint the ghost gums that they’d sketched the day before. Creating an impression of the hollow would be a challenge because of the apparent randomness of the debris lying here. If she stared at it hard enough perhaps she would find meaning in it.

  Between her shoulder blades she felt a tiny trickle of sweat and wished she’d worn a looser blouse. After pulling a handkerchief out of her trouser pocket, she wiped her damp brow and the palms of her hands. In a moment she would put pencil to paper and try to convey this sense of a slow accumulation of litter that would eventually smother the hollow in which she sat.

  When she was about to make the first mark on her sketchpad, she felt that something wasn’t right. Everything was as still as before but something had changed. But glancing around, she saw that nothing had altered. It was only her imagination: the heightened awareness that she always developed when she was about to start drawing. Yet this awareness was more pronounced than usual. It was verging on discomfort.

  Presently she heard a twig break. Nothing to see. It might have been a wallaby, or even a snake; not visible now but keeping still to avoid detection.

  ‘Mick!’ she called. ‘Is that you?’

  There was no reply. Perhaps she should have gone with him after all. He hadn’t wanted to leave her alone but she’d insisted on it. Knowing how much he wanted to finish his study of the white gums, she’d more or less pushed him away.

  Several minutes passed before she looked again at her blank sketchbook. She’d barely made two marks with her pencil before she heard again the snapping of a twig. A light breeze had arisen and the noise she heard could have been a rattling together of dry branches. The leaves of the eucalyptus trees caught the sunlight as they twisted and the entire bush seemed to glow with a silvery green light. She shifted her position on the boulder slightly, so that she was completely in the shade, and glanced at her sketchbook. The lines she’d drawn were wrong. Moving had destroyed the composition and she’d have to start again. She turned over the page and looked up at the view that she would draw.

  So startled was she at the sight of a still figure leaning on a tree-trunk, barely ten yards away, that she almost dropped her sketchbook. Wearing dark clothes and with a felt hat pulled down low, the man was well camouflaged. Although she couldn’t see the man’s face, she didn’t think he was from Dimbulah Downs, but it was hard to be certain when he was standing in deep shadow. Once he’d observed her surprise, he t
ook a couple of steps towards her.

  ‘All alone, I see.’ At once she recognised the voice. He moved into the sunlight. Her stomach turned at the sight of Dan Brady and the animosity in his eyes.

  ‘I’m not all alone,’ she said, her voice breaking slightly. ‘My friend isn’t far away.’ Putting her hand to the waistband of her trousers, she cursed herself for leaving behind her revolver and cartridge belt and wondered what Brady was doing at Dimbulah Downs. It wasn’t the most direct route to Port Darwin. ‘I’m sorry to hear about Carruthers,’ she added.

  ‘You’re not the only one. That’s the end of my job. Those murdering black bastards would spear you in the back soon as look at you. Can’t ever trust a blackfeller.’

  Her mouth felt devoid of all saliva and she tried to wet her dry lips with her tongue. ‘Treat them with kindness and they’ll treat you with kindness.’

  ‘That’s how you treat the blackie Mick,’ Brady said, combing his unkempt beard with his fingers. ‘I saw him when I came up the creek. You’re a bit of a nigger lover, eh? That’s what I’ve heard.’

  Her face flushed with anger. She opened her mouth to speak but her throat was too dry. After swallowing she tried again. ‘Mick’s a fine man. I’d trust him anywhere.’

  ‘I’ve heard you’ve been riding all over with him. And I see you’re wearing the trousers now.’ Brady was grinning, pleased at her discomfort.

  Harriet took a deep breath. His goal was to humiliate her; she had to stay cool. ‘Do you have business here today?’ Her voice sounded remarkably calm now. She thought of starting to draw, to show her bravado, but her hand was shaking too much and the pencil fell to the ground.

  ‘Just passing through. Saw a tasty sight here and thought I’d take a look. Give us a kiss then, why don’t you,’ he said, taking a few more steps towards her. ‘Like you were trying to do on the Guthrie. Remember that? Led me on a bit then, didn’t you? Like my missus used to. What about that kiss now, eh?’