When it did so he slung a handful of leaves into it, took it off the fire, added sugar and waited for it to cool enough to drink.
The routine reminded him of Mary’s behaviour yesterday. He had assumed she had rowed with Lorna yet when Lorna came back everything had been as it always was. He might have imagined how Mary had been, except that he had not. There were currents flowing beneath the surface that he did not understand. He hated that but deliberately put all thoughts of it aside. In his own time the Lord would make all things plain.
He drank the tea, gnawed on another square of kangaroo meat and packed everything into his saddlebag. He doused the fire and knelt‚ Testament in hand, praying aloud for a few minutes. When he had finished he mounted the gelding and continued along the river, as much at peace as it was in his nature to be.
I shall ride for the rest of the day, he told himself. If I find nothing by then, I’ll go back and try upriver.
He had been riding for three hours when he saw a man, wearing shabby clothes and a broken hat and riding a big-boned horse, coming towards him through the bush.
No getting away from it, Lorna thought, the camp felt empty without Andrew to order them about. Normally she would have welcomed the break from the trail but today, ironically, she wished she had more to do to keep her mind off yesterday. Not what had happened between Mary and herself—she would not even think about that although her body remembered what her mind was determined to forget—it was what had happened when she and Andrew went to bed that troubled her.
With Andrew planning to be away for a few days she had known fine he would come to her as he did most nights anyway. She had grown used to it, accepting it with no more feeling than an occasional drowsy languor at the end of it. It was part of her life, as unremarked as breathing. If it ceased she would miss it but not much and not for long.
Andrew prayed at length in the harsh voice that seemed more to be harassing God than appealing to him, then blew out the candle. Sure enough, he turned to her at once, lifting her nightgown to her waist and climbing on top of her with as much feeling, she had thought once, as he showed when castrating a lamb. She was sore, often, as sore as she thought the land must be when the plough ripped it open.
Tonight she was not sore. For the first time for a long time she found herself wanting him. She was panting, responding in a way that was as strange to her as it was, no doubt, to him. With part of her mind she knew he would not like it. At the start of their marriage he had told her that it was unseemly in the sight of God for a woman to show pleasure in an act designed purely for the procreation of children, yet last night she had been unable to help herself. Her groans had intensified until, at the last, she had heard herself cry out, overwhelmed by a scalding tide of pleasure.
Afterwards she had lain inert, listening to the silence on the other side of the screen.
She had been sure Andrew would speak to her about it but he had not. No doubt he was as ashamed of her as she was. From Mary, not a word. But she would be feeling it—oh yes, indeed.
They walked around each other all day, stiff-legged as dogs, until eventually she could bear it no longer.
Taking the opportunity to wash their clothes and bedding, they had filled their biggest container with water and heated it on the fire. When the water was simmering they put the clothes in, stirring them for a long time with a strong piece of wood before taking them out, wringing them as well as they could and spreading them on the ground to dry in the sun.
It was hard, hot work and they had both been covered in sweat when they had finished.
Neither of them had spoken. The air was spiky with all the unspoken words, the unexpressed emotions.
Lorna pushed back her long blonde hair and said, ‘Are ye angry wi’ me?’
Mary’s eyes sliced her. ‘What’ve I got to be angry about?’
‘Last night.’
A shrug. ‘What you do is your business.’ But she was angry, Lorna saw.
‘I couldna refuse him, Mary. He is my husband, after all.’
‘Who said you should refuse him?’
It was hopeless. She said nothing.
Mary said, ‘Other folks got to sleep, too, you know.’
Shame overwhelmed her. ‘I couldna help that, either.’
‘What it sounded like.’ And walked away.
Lorna cried aloud to the indifferent trees, ‘What am I going to do?’ Expecting no answer, receiving none.
She hoped Andrew would come back soon, to restore normality to their lives.
Something about the man put Andrew on his guard at once. He drew his pistol. It was a relic of the Napoleonic Wars but reliable. The ball it fired would blow a hole as big as a door through a man. He’d never used it against a man, admittedly, but at close range it had blasted the head off a dingo. He cocked it and rested it conspicuously on the pommel of his saddle.
The man gave it a sharp glance as he reined in his horse. ‘Nice welcome, matey.’
‘I believe in being aye ready for trouble‚’ Andrew told him.
‘That right?’ Blackened teeth showed.
Andrew saw he had a pistol himself, stuck in his belt, and a rifle in a long holster behind his saddle. He needed a shave. He was about forty years old, Andrew guessed, and by the look of him had not changed or washed his clothes for a long time.
‘What brings you to this neck o’ the woods?’ the man asked.
‘Riding through‚’ Andrew said. ‘And you?’
‘As you say, matey. Ridin’ through.’ He sucked his teeth. ‘Wouldn’t ’ave no baccy on yer, matey? Mebbe a tot o’ rum? I’ve a powerful thirst for a tot o’ rum.’ Little pig eyes gleamed.
‘I’ve nothing.’
The man’s expression tightened. ‘I reckon you’re lyin’.’
‘No.’ Andrew’s eyes were watchful; his hand rested on the pistol butt.
‘’Ow you manage wi’ nuthin? A long way from London Town ’ere. From Sydney, either, come to that.’
‘I’m looking for a ford over the river. Do ye know of one?’
‘Wot’s the matter? ’Orse can’t swim or what?’
‘I’ve also got five hundred sheep.’
A gleam of interest. ‘That right? Where would they be, then?’
‘Not far.’ Andrew wondered if he had been wise to say as much as he had but presumably the man was less likely to make trouble if he knew other people were about.
‘Mebbe you could use an extra man to git you across the river?’
Andrew thought about it. ‘I’ve nae money.’
‘You got stores, though. Must ’ave, eh?’
‘We might manage something.’
‘Such as?’
‘Tobacco, mebbe. Some liquor. Not much, mind, but I dare say we could find you a bottle.’
The man beamed, pushing his shipwrecked hat back on his head. ‘Looks like we might ’ave a deal then.’
‘If ye know a place we can cross‚’ Andrew cautioned him.
‘There’s places, orright. Don’ you worry ’bout that.’ The pig eyes gleamed slyly. He was clearly not prepared to say more.
‘Are ye willing to help us or no’?’ Andrew was becoming impatient with the man’s games.
‘Two bottle o’ rum, mebbe a pound o’ baccy, an’ I’m yore man.’
‘We can manage that. But nothing till ye show me the ford.’
‘I understands, general. You made that plain enough, I reckon.’ The sly glint was underscored with resentment.
‘I’ll bring the drive this way then. Ye want to come wi’ me or shall we find ye when we come back?’
‘I’ll be ’ere.’
‘What’s your name?’
‘Don’ matter, general. Call me wot yer likes.’
Riding fast, Andrew reached camp before sundown. Everything was fine. He had supposed it would be, yet still it surprised him. He could never get it out of his head that without him the whole drive would fall to pieces.
‘Found a way over?
’ George asked.
‘I’m nae sure.’ He told them how the stranger had offered to help them.
‘Don’ sound the sort you kin trust too far‚’ Mary said.
‘I wouldna trust him an inch. But if he knows a way to get across …’
‘Think ’e does?’
‘What does it matter? If he knows the way over, we win. If he doesna, we’re nae worse off than we are now. Leave first thing, we’ll come up with him in mebbe three days.’
Lorna hated the idea of leaving. It was silly, of course—there were no fortunes to be won here—but the untamed country south of the river frightened her. I am a coward, she thought. The notion made her feel worse. A coward had no place in the bush.
She sat by the fire, watching the rosy glow shifting on the trees, listening to the peaceful noises of the sheep. It had been wonderful to be free of dust and sweat, to be able to wash clothes, to take it easy for once. Who knew when they would get the chance again? Three days. That was all it had been. It was ridiculous to think of it as home after so short a time, yet she did.
Andrew poked at the burning coals. ‘Ye seem to have managed verra well without me‚’ he said.
‘Why shouldn’t we?’
‘Nae reason. I suppose.’
She thought, he wants us to be dependent on him. When we’re not he resents it.
Aloud, she said, ‘I liked it here.’
‘If we’d been able to cross straightaway, we’d mebbe be near our journey’s end by now.’
Journey’s end, she thought. The idea chilled her. ‘What’ll it be like?’
He shifted his shoulders irritably. ‘I’ve no’ been there, have I?’
No, he had not. But he had a dream—of broad and spreading acres, of wealth and position. It meant nothing to her. A small house, comfortable and secure, in a place already settled, with friends and neighbours around her, that would have been her dream, given any choice in the matter.
She knew fine she had no choice.
Andrew stood. ‘Bedtime,’ he said.
She went to face the nightly ritual. Except that when it came to the point she rebelled.
‘I dinna feel like it,’ she said, quite loudly and clearly. Mary was probably asleep but, if she was not, she would hear.
Andrew paused, hand on her nightdress. ‘Is it …?’
Your period, he meant. He would never mention such a thing, any more than she would.
Some instinct of independence, as unwise as it was unprecedented, made her reject the offer. ‘I dinna feel like it, that’s all.’
‘I’m no’ sure I understand.’ A whisper, fury unmistakable.
Her courage curdled in her stomach yet she would not surrender. ‘I dinna want to.’
‘Are you no’ well?’ More exasperated than concerned.
I don’t want sex with you tonight. I don’t want it. For once I want to be in control of my own body. Is that so much to ask? Knowing it was indeed too much. Her courage toppled into a lie.
‘I dinna feel all that bright, I must say.’
He was not convinced. Suspiciously he asked, ‘How long’ve ye been feeling like this?’
‘Just today. I’m sure I’ll be fine in the morning.’
‘Ye’d better be. We’ve miles to cover tomorrow.’
Had they been alone he might have insisted but with the Curtises only a canvas-breadth away his pride would not permit him to take her against her will. He would remember, though.
Next morning they set off very early and by afternoon had covered ten miles.
‘Man you met,’ George said, ‘’e told ee there were a ford? Definite like?’
‘Aye, he did.’
‘Lucky you met him then.’
Andrew did not think so. ‘Mebbe we’d better stand watch tonight, George.’
‘Think ’e might come after us?’
Andrew shook his head. ‘Just a feeling.’
They decided to take two four-hour shifts, from ten until six. Andrew went first. He waited until the others were in bed and the fire died down, mounted Scabbard and rode quietly around the mob of sheep, trying not to disturb them.
They were broken to the trail by now. At the beginning it had been hard to get them moving in the mornings and often some of the hoggets would take it into their heads to go off on their own. During those early days both men and dogs had been constantly chasing and retrieving creatures that had decided they wanted to be somewhere else. Every night they spread out, wandering all over the landscape instead of staying together. It was a job rounding them up in the morning. Worse, it made them vulnerable to dingoes, although so far they’d been lucky and hadn’t had any trouble. Things were better now. The sheep didn’t stray so far at night and were readier to move on in the morning.
When Andrew had ridden around the flock he dismounted beneath a group of trees fifty yards from the camp and settled down to watch.
The night was warm and still. There was no moon but out here, so far from human habitation, the stars were bright. In their light he could make out the woolly backs of the flock grazing peacefully across the dark plain. Insects sawed and whistled. It was so still he could hear the river running between its banks and smell the freshness of the water.
He sat with his back to a tree, eyes alert, pistol close at hand. He heard the occasional chink of the bridle as Scabbard moved his head.
He thought resentfully of what had happened last night between himself and Lorna. It was a wife’s duty, wasn’t it? Unless she really had been sick. But he didn’t believe that, and today she’d been fine.
There was nothing he could do about it while they were sharing a tent but when they got their own place it would be a different story. He would make sure of that.
Towards the end of his watch, Scabbard’s head came up abruptly. The horse stood still, ears cocked. Andrew froze, hand on the pistol. For a few minutes nothing moved, then Scabbard’s breath gusted noisily, his head went down and he began to graze once more. Andrew waited but nothing happened. Gradually, he relaxed.
At two o’clock he roused George and went to bed.
George settled down under a tree to make the best of the long night. He thought this watch-keeping was a waste of good sleeping time. It stood to reason that the bushranger, if that was what he was, would not have followed Andrew here. Why should he? They weren’t people with money—anyone with half an eye could see that—and he didn’t see a scallywag bushranger wanting to take over a mob of sheep.
Sheep, he thought. He had never liked them but Andy had wanted them so that was what they had. Of course. He wondered how the four of them would get on when Andy decided they’d reached wherever they were going.
One thing was sure, they weren’t as comfortable together as they’d been before they left. Andy was too pushy, for one thing. Keep on like he was going, the day would come when George, easy-going or not, would tell him to button his lip. As for Mary and Lorna, there was something there, too, a new and uncomfortable atmosphere. Mary was snappy, something she had never been before. And Lorna talking to her husband the way she had last night … He would never have believed it if he hadn’t heard her himself.
He wasn’t even sure he wanted to be rich.
Here I am, he thought, with a bunch of silly sheep I don’t like, going somewhere I don’t want to go, in the hopes of making a pile of money I don’t need.
Funny how things worked out.
The hours passed.
He could see the dying glow of the fire, a tiny red island in the midst of the blackness. The light of home, he thought comfortably. Some strange, to think of a tent and a few hundred sheep as home.
He smiled at the notion. Something dark crossed in front of the fire.
The smile was gone but he hesitated, not sure what he had seen. Not sure if he had seen anything, come to that.
He took out his pistol. He had never fired a gun in his life and he held it gingerly, afraid it might go off prematurely and shoot either himself or the
horse.
All very well agreeing to keep watch. They had never discussed what the man on watch should do if anything happened.
He clutched the butt of the pistol with a hand suddenly wet with sweat. If he stayed here and there was someone there he would be useless. But if there was someone there and he went over, whoever it was would see him coming and be able to gun him down before he was half way.
Maybe I can work my way around the back and come in from that side, he thought. At least there’s more cover. He didn’t know what he could do when he got there but it would be better than sitting here and waiting for something to happen.
He tom-catted around the back of the camp. The sheep moved away from him, quietly but definitely. Anyone watching would be sure to see the movement. That meant they would see him, too. He cursed under his breath. He carried on and in a short while reached the shelter of the trees.
It was dark. He kept treading on broken-off branches and strips of bark that crackled beneath his feet like ice. If there was anyone about, they would have to be blind and deaf not to know he was here.
He put his hand on the trunk of a tree and leant forward, peering through the darkness at the shape of the tent ten yards away. Nothing stirred. Perhaps he had imagined it. He would stick his nose inside the tent, just to make sure. If he walked quietly he would not disturb the others.
As he stepped forward he heard a metallic click. Someone stuck the muzzle of a pistol into his ribs.
SEVEN
Lorna was on board Mary‚ on top of one of the masts. The wind was blowing hard. A sail had come loose and wrapped itself around her so she could not move. Someone was shouting at her to get free of the sail, to climb down to the deck because the ship was sinking and if she stayed where she was she would surely drown. She tried to explain that she was tied up so securely she couldn’t move, but was unable to speak. She opened her mouth to scream but no sound emerged. In contrast, the voice of whoever was shouting at her grew louder and louder.
Her eyes sprang open. For a moment she could make no sense of what she saw. A lantern was shining into her face so that she could see nothing. A man’s harsh voice was shouting. Confused at being woken so suddenly, she could not make out what he was saying.
The Burning Land Page 7