by Alison Booth
Briefly she wondered if this was an omen. Of course it wasn’t, she told herself sternly. Of course it hadn’t happened, it wouldn’t happen. It was anxiety expressing itself, anxiety induced by yesterday’s events.
She’d fired at Brady’s arm. It was a minor wound, she’d barely grazed him. She would have aimed for his heart if that wouldn’t have threatened her sister’s safety. With Brady sprawled on top of Harriet, she couldn’t possibly have taken that risk. Yet she would have succeeded if that had been her goal. All that practice had made her an excellent markswoman. Speed and accuracy had been Henry’s mantra when he’d taught her to fire a revolver. Though he’d never mentioned that you had to decide whether to shoot to harm or to kill, making that decision had been easy for her.
If she’d shot Brady through the heart, she would now be a killer. But, of course, that had been impossible; the risk to Harriet was too great. Anyway, Brady was responsible for his wound. By inflicting it, she’d simply chosen the lesser of two evils: it was clearly far worse to let Harriet be raped – and probably afterwards murdered – than it was to injure the man intent on assaulting her. The choice had been straightforward. Sarah would suffer no remorse over Brady’s fate.
She guessed that Carruthers’ death would have frightened Brady and probably maddened him too. Perhaps then Aidan had said something to Brady about Harriet and Mick that could have set him off. For an unstable man like Brady, humiliation could be hard to take from a woman like Harriet. A woman who subsequently fraternised with a black fellow.
So shocked had Sarah been at the sight of Harriet collapsed under Brady, and an instant later at her own cool calculation in marking where to aim, she’d barely noticed Brady’s words to Mick. She wondered which would be the greater mortification for Brady: being wounded by a white woman or by a black fellow.
I too fraternise with the blacks, she thought. Brady might want to punish her as well, and her unborn child. She remembered all the times she’d swum with the station’s Aboriginal women. She thought of Bella, whom she loved like a sister. She thought of the humiliation she’d inflicted on Brady. Her fear returned and with it came that hateful image from her dream: Henry lying face down on the ground with a spear poking out of his back.
It would be impossible to sleep again. The dream was still too close, too real. After donning her dressing gown and a thick shawl, she picked up her revolver and stepped out on to the veranda. The thin crescent moon and a vast swathe of stars faintly illuminated the homestead grounds. A horse whinnied and was then quiet. Outside the stockmen’s quarters she could discern the glowing end of a cigarette and a figure hunched in a chair.
‘Is that you, Bob?’ she called. The grunted reply was unmistakably his. He was keeping watch, as he and Mick had agreed.
The air was cool and she could distinguish a faint sweetish scent, perhaps from the vine that Ah Soy was training along the verandah to the kitchen. A distant wailing could have been a bush curlew, or one of the children from the Aboriginal encampment. The crying stopped. The night became so silent that she became aware of the sound of her blood pulsing near her eardrums. It was beating too fast. She had to stay calm, she had to keep alert. It wasn’t right to leave all the station security to Mick and to Bob.
She imagined Henry sitting in a campsite a day or two away, perhaps awake and thinking of her. There was safety in numbers: surrounded by stockmen, no harm would come to him. Her spirits lifted at this thought, and her blood stopped thudding in her ears.
She put the revolver on the trestle table in the screened-off corner of the verandah. Resting her hand lightly on her belly, she thought of how surprised Henry would be when he learned about her pregnancy. He would be surprised too once he discovered how decisive she had become. When she’d been faced with the dilemma of how to save Harriet she’d felt it was someone else who was acting in her place. But it wasn’t someone else. It was she. She’d always had the potential to be strong, she thought. And today she’d realised it.
Henry would be even more surprised when he learned that she – always so affable, always so agreeable – was going to lay down an ultimatum about what they would do in the future. The Carruthers and Brady incidents – and her nightmare too – had enabled her to reach a clear decision. There would be no more thoughts of leaving Henry. She loved him; there was no doubt in her mind about that. But the outback was too savage for her. She didn’t want to be confronted by choices like those she’d faced today. The Territory had made her into a potential killer, and she had to get away.
Consequently Henry would have to get away too, as soon as his contract ended. She had made up her mind at last and she would stick to it. They would stick to it.
They would go to Port Darwin when the manager returned before the dry season ended. After that they would sail south and begin to look for a property south of Sydney. She agreed with Henry now – even after all that had happened – that they shouldn’t go back to England. She had grown to love Australia too much.
Perhaps they would buy a place near Braidwood, in the High Country. Or maybe somewhere on the south coast, just north of Eden. A place with proper seasons, all four of them. Although Eden was a long way south, the steamship service was good and she liked the idea of being near the sea. On their property they would construct a large and solid house, with walls made out of bricks and not corrugated iron, and she would have a grand piano. And there they would bring up their family and Henry would farm the land. She flexed her fingers. She was so out of practice that she would find playing the piano again difficult but how her soul yearned for it, how her body yearned for it.
Now that she’d decided, she couldn’t wait to get away. She would miss Bella and Daisy and the others but she wanted a home of her own. She didn’t want to live in a place where she had to worry about Henry getting a spear in his back or Harriet being attacked. Picking up her revolver, she went back inside. The candle on the bedside table was burning low. For a moment she thought of putting the gun under Henry’s pillow but that was too dangerous. She placed it on the bedside table. With Henry’s pyjamas cradled against her, she fell into a dreamless sleep.
Later she woke again with a start. Though a thin band of moonlight filtered around the edges of the shuttered window, the room was in darkness. She stayed quite still and listened. There was a change in the atmosphere. Perhaps a storm was on its way. She couldn’t hear the wind blowing or the rattling of leaves or shutters, so that hadn’t woken her. Perhaps it was the snick of the catch to the outside door. Brady might somehow have managed to get back to Dimbulah Downs undetected. What an idiot she’d been not to leave the revolver under Henry’s pillow. Maybe Brady was already inside the room with her and waiting to pounce. She held her breath. Carefully she put out a hand to reach for the revolver.
Instead of metal she felt something soft and warm, and she gave a little yelp.
‘It’s me,’ Henry said. ‘I thought you were asleep. Sorry I frightened you.’ He struck a match and lit the candle.
‘Thank God you’re back!’ She held up a hand against the glare of the flame and his shining eyes. Her tension drained away as he took her hand and raised it to his lips. They were dry and cracked, and his face was sunburnt, apart from a strip of white forehead that still bore the welt of his hat. Six weeks on the hoof. Six weeks in the sun. Six weeks in which she’d changed too, though in ways that were perhaps less visible.
‘I’ve heard all about what happened from Mick. Dearest Sarah, what an awful time you’ve had of it.’
‘Harriet’s the one who had the awful time. Henry, I’m so very glad you’re back!’
‘Mick’s heard that Brady’s riding back to Empty Creek.’
‘So he can’t be all that badly wounded.’
‘Apparently not. Or not so wounded he can’t sit on a horse. Mick’s going away, Sarah.’
‘I know. He has to. Harriet will be s
ad.’
‘Harriet?’
‘Yes, Harriet,’ Sarah said firmly. ‘They’ve become good friends.’ Mick would go away, perhaps a long way away, and Harriet would never see him again. She might find that hard to cope with, for Mick had brought about what Sarah described to herself as Harriet’s recovery. He had been instrumental in restoring to Harriet her desire to draw and paint, but there was more to it than that. Sarah had seen the way they looked at each other when they thought no one would notice.
‘The stockman and the suffragist? Seems an unlikely friendship.’
If Sarah hadn’t been so pleased to have Henry back, she might have been irritated by his grin. ‘He’s encouraged her to paint again,’ she said.
‘I see.’ She knew from his struggle to keep a straight face that he didn’t believe her.
‘A lot has happened while you’ve been away, Henry. I’ve changed, for a start.’
‘I hope not, Sarah.’
Suddenly it seemed droll to her that in the six weeks he’d been away she’d grown up. In that time she’d learned to formulate her own opinions. In that time she’d learned a lot about human nature, including her own. She’d learned what she was capable of. That she should discover this in the remote outback, rather than in Gower Street in London, seemed to her intensely comical, and she began to laugh. Her laughter was slightly hysterical, but she really didn’t care.
Henry joined in. Although they were laughing at different things, it didn’t matter. As soon as she was able to speak, she said, ‘Henry, I want to leave soon too.’
‘Yes, yes, my dear. Of course. That’s what we agreed. As soon as the manager gets back we’ll be on our way. That’s in just four weeks.’
‘But Aidan told me you were planning on staying.’
‘Aidan? What would he know?’
‘He said he’d got it from one of the ringers.’
‘How could he have when they were on Dimbulah Downs and I was miles away? That man’s a terrible gossip and he’s always getting things wrong, though he can run rings around a steer, I’ll give him that. Take no notice. You know I’d never make any decision without talking with you first.’
She thought about their honeymoon. It was true he’d consulted with her about that and, although he’d rather pushed her into coming to Australia, she had no regrets, even after all that had happened here. She thought about the job at Dimbulah Downs. He’d consulted her about that too, and he’d been right that it would distract her from her grief.
Henry said, ‘I’m counting the days until we leave, Sarah. All we have to decide on is where we should go.’
‘Southern New South Wales, I think.’
‘Thank heaven we agree on that at last.’
It was only after Henry had fallen asleep beside her that she realised with surprise that she’d forgotten to tell him about the baby. There would be time enough for that tomorrow.
Chapter 36
Her Eyes Were as Dry as the Desert
‘What was Harriet doing, wandering about on her own?’ Henry said, as he and Sarah strolled towards the empty stockyards. In the distance she could see the billabong reflecting the luminous sky, and beyond that the darker smudge of the ranges. ‘I told Mick and Bob to keep an eye on her at all times.’
‘You can’t blame her. Really, Henry, you must be more tactful. You can’t expect to keep us locked up either. I know this is worrying you, but you shouldn’t blame her.’ She guessed he was reproaching himself as well. ‘The sole person to blame is Brady. But I have some other news for you too.’
‘Good news, I hope?’ He looked at her, his expression anxious.
‘Yes. It’s very good news, Henry. Or at least I think so, and I hope you will as well.’
‘Whatever makes you happy makes me happy too.’
Not always, she thought, remembering the enthusiasm with which he’d accepted working for Mr Arnott when they’d first arrived in Sydney, even though he’d known it would mean leaving her behind in Sydney. There was no point reminding him of this, however. She took his hand. Resting it on her stomach, she watched him closely as his expression changed from apprehension to surprise.
‘Are you pregnant, Sarah?’
‘Yes.’
‘Oh my dear clever thing, this is wonderful news!’ He put his arm around her and held her close. ‘I’m the happiest man alive!’ He tilted up the brim of her hat and kissed the tip of her nose, before whisking her around in a few steps of a waltz. Suddenly he stopped and his expression became serious. ‘But shouldn’t you be taking things quietly? Goodness me, to think that you’ve been working hard all the weeks I have been away on that bally cattle drive. How could I have left you alone? What if something happened to you?’
‘Something did happen to us, and we coped.’
‘I know that, darling, but I meant the pregnancy. There’s no doctor or midwife anywhere between here and Port Darwin.’
‘I’m only five months pregnant. There’s plenty of time. A pregnancy lasts nine months.’
‘I’ll have to start making plans. We’ll have to decide where you want to have the baby. And are you eating enough?’ He stood back to inspect her. ‘You’re looking well,’ he said, ‘although maybe you’re a little bit thin for someone who’s pregnant. We don’t want you starving our child, do we?’
‘Oh, do stop fretting Henry,’ she said, smiling. ‘Ah Soy always makes sure we all eat well. Look, here’s Mick to see us.’
* * *
Sarah leaned on the top rail of the stockyard, one shoulder touching Henry’s arm. Since his euphoria about her pregnancy had quickly been followed by a concern that bordered on fussing, it was as well that other responsibilities were competing for his attention. Mick, for instance, who was standing on Henry’s other side.
‘You don’t think leaving here now is jumping the gun a bit, do you?’ Henry said to Mick. An instant later Sarah could see that he was regretting his choice of words.
Mick didn’t bother answering Henry’s question, which anyway was probably rhetorical. Henry began to pull off loose splinters of wood from the weathered railing, as if by removing the outer layers he could reveal some unsullied core.
Sarah felt that, if she were in Mick’s position, probably about to be set up by Brady for a murder he hadn’t committed, in a place where he was guilty until proved innocent – and where proving his innocence was well-nigh impossible – she too would be looking for a way out. A stiff upper lip was all very well for rich white fellows whose rights were guarded by the system. But there was no reason for Mick to have faith in a system in which his people were on the wrong side, squeezed out to the very margins of their own land.
Henry sighed and rested his head on his hands. After Henry’s second sigh, Mick said, ‘Don’t worry, boss.’
‘Carruthers was an animal,’ Henry said. ‘I know that, you know that. But we have to respect the law.’
What law? Sarah thought. Tribal law or white fellows’ law? And anyway white fellows’ law was imperfectly administered in the Territory. A handful of troopers and a few men scattered across this vast leasehold of land. Was it surprising that the justice system was full of flaws? There was no white rule of law here and individuals were not constrained.
‘Sure, boss,’ Mick said. ‘We have to respect black fellers’ law too.’
In the way that Sarah found so endearing, Henry made his goldfish mouth. A few seconds passed before he managed to speak. ‘You’re right, you should go. Go walkabout. Tribal business.’
‘Not tribal business. Own business. Avoiding the gun is better than jumping the gun.’
‘When will you leave?’ Henry picked a few more splinters of wood from the railing.
‘One day, two days.’
‘Thank you for looking after things so well here,’ Henry said a trifle
awkwardly. ‘I know Miss Cameron is sometimes difficult.’
Sarah winced. ‘Really, Henry. That’s too harsh about dear Harriet.’
‘Missus Harriet good feller white feller,’ Mick said, his voice faltering slightly.
Henry regarded him with surprise. ‘She has a strong sense of justice,’ he conceded. The dinner bell reverberated through the evening air. ‘Chow bell,’ said Henry. He cleared his throat, the usual signal that there was something he wanted to say. Before he had a chance to speak, Mick nodded at them both. Then he did what Sarah described to herself as his vanishing trick and evaporated into the fading afternoon light.
Chapter 37
Teetering on the Brink
Harriet, brushing her hair in her bedroom, wished the clock could be turned back. Until Brady had tried to rape her, she’d felt happier than she’d been for years, but all that optimism was trickling away. She twisted her slippery hair into a roll and secured it with hairpins. The dinner bell rang as she peered absently at her reflection in the miniature cheval mirror. Wisps of hair were already escaping from the chignon, but her attention was on other matters: the nature of chance preoccupied her, and how a whole sorry sequence of events could be triggered by a random encounter.
Her friendship with Mick was like a small ball resting on a glassy table surface. If you were to give the ball a little touch, a little push, it would begin to travel in one direction and it would continue, unless something else deflected it, until it had run its course. Until it either came to a rest or plummeted off the edge.
Yet her friendship with Mick might not have formed if she’d never met Brady. If Brady hadn’t been following her at Palmerston, she and Mick would never have spoken more than a few words. If Brady hadn’t gone to work at Empty Creek Station, Carruthers wouldn’t have upset her when he visited. It was in reaction to this that she’d unburdened herself to Mick that night, and afterwards he’d invited her to the gorge. Their friendship had dated from this, had developed from this. It was Brady who’d brought them together. And Brady who was going to drive them apart again, before she could discover if her feelings for Mick were reciprocated.