Freedom's Land

by Anna Jacobs

  He hoped he’d hidden his fears, but Norah watched him sometimes, and he soon realised that she understood what it was like for him, would often touch his hand before he went down into the darkness of the hole or stand at the top when she was taking a break and chat to him.

  He was greatly relieved when they found water without having to dig too deep. But even nineteen feet was too deep for him.

  And every night their sleep was disturbed because Janie cried or had nightmares, becoming so distressed that in the end, Norah started sleeping next to her, putting her stretcher bed close enough to reach out and touch the child. The frustration of wanting his wife’s body, of catching glimpses of her rosy flesh as she washed, was hard to bear and Andrew found his temper very short at times.

  ‘When we get our farmhouse,’ he told Janie abruptly one night, ‘you’ll be having your own room, young lady, and your mother won’t be sleeping in it with you, however much you cry.’

  The child stared at him mutinously, her bottom lip sticking out.

  ‘I mean it.’

  Norah came up to link her arm with his, in a gesture which was becoming familiar and which pleased him. ‘He’s right, Janie. Mothers sleep with fathers, not with the children.’

  ‘He isn’t my father.’

  ‘He is now. And he’s my husband. That won’t change.’

  Andrew put up his free hand to clasp Norah’s for a moment and they exchanged wry smiles.

  But she saw how her daughter scowled even more blackly at that and continued to worry. Janie could be a very stubborn young madam when she got some idea into her head and she seemed quite certain that Andrew and his sons hated her, would not be persuaded otherwise.

  Norah also worried that Jack seemed somewhat resentful of his new stepmother, but his resentment took the form of avoiding Norah as much as he could, which was easier to deal with. She heard him taunting Janie a few times with being a mardy, a crybaby and a softie but she didn’t intervene, hardening her heart when Janie looked at her, mutely pleading for help. The children had to adjust to one another.

  She might have taken steps about Janie more quickly, but most days she and Andrew were too tired to do anything but sleep at night. She’d never worked as hard physically in her whole life before, not even when she was a railway porter.

  And had never enjoyed sunshine and bright, sparkling fresh air as much.

  The other problems would work themselves out as they settled down together as a family and got used to their new home.

  Surely they would?

  9

  One day a man turned up with a cow lowing dolefully in the back of a truck. The creature had been sent to provide milk for their group, especially the children. The driver had also brought some more boxes of basic food supplies for the settlers and a few bales of hay to supplement the cow’s feed until the winter rains brought new grass.

  Gil helped lead the animal off the truck, talking to it all the time in a gentle voice and seeming to know exactly what he was doing. When the cow was on firm ground, it pulled away, stared round for a minute then ambled over to a patch of nearby grass where it started grazing.

  He beckoned some of the men over and as they unloaded the rest of the things from the truck, the driver handed him a letter from the authorities and accepted the offer of one of the enamel mugs of tea that contained a full pint and were very popular. In the warmer weather, people sweated more and even the children were getting used to drinking extra to make up for it.

  As people drifted over to look at the animal, Gil opened his letter in case it needed a quick reply. He nearly choked as he read it, but when he saw someone staring at him, he stuffed the letter into his pocket without saying anything about its contents. He’d attend to this later. No point in replying to the letter. In his experience you could never talk sense into people in authority once they’d made their minds up about some course of action.

  As the truck pulled away, he went to slap the cow on the rump and looked at the bystanders. ‘Anyone know anything about cows?’

  Heads were shaken.

  He bit back a sharp response. They’d come out here to be dairy farmers, hadn’t they? Surely some of them had found out about their new trade?

  ‘They said a foreman would be here to teach us,’ one man volunteered.

  ‘It can’t be that hard,’ another said. ‘You feed the front end and the milk comes out from underneath.’

  They all laughed. Gil wished he felt like laughing. The weight of responsibility for all these lives seemed to get heavier by the day. ‘Well, we need someone to look after this lass and milk her. We’ll share the milk out daily, but the person tending the cow gets an extra ration. I can show you what to do.’

  ‘I don’t mind having a try,’ Norah offered. ‘I had a couple of goes at milking a cow before we left England, but I don’t really know a lot about them.’

  ‘In that case, we’ll take her over to your block and I’ll help you get started.’

  Pam stepped forward. ‘If you’re giving Norah lessons in milking, can I come and watch?’

  ‘I’d like to watch, too.’ Irene looked at the cow, her head on one side. ‘What are we going to call her?’

  ‘Blossom,’ one of the little girls shouted.

  ‘Good idea.’ Gil smiled across at the child. ‘Blossom it is.’ The children always made him feel better and he loved the comical things they said and did. He thought of his son sometimes and wished desperately that the baby had lived. John would be nearly ten if he had.

  All the women except for Susan said that they would like to come and watch the milking demonstration, which pleased Gil. He looked at her and raised one eyebrow but she shuddered, staring at the cow as if it was something to be afraid of. Shaking his head at how unsuitable such a woman was for this life, he turned back to study the animal’s udder, which wasn’t full yet. ‘Blossom’s not ready to milk yet. We’ll do that before tea. I’ll find you some buckets, Norah, one for the milk, one for water to wash her with, and one to hold drinking water till we can make her a proper drinking trough. We’ll half bury the drinking bucket so she can’t knock it over.

  When he’d found the buckets, he walked her and Blossom to their new home. The sun shone down on them as they moved in and out of the long shadows cast by the afternoon sun. No hardship to take a stroll like this, Gil thought, especially with a woman who didn’t try to fill every second with words. He seemed to have been working non-stop for days, rushing here, rushing there, always on call.

  It didn’t even matter that the cow was in a contrary mood and it took longer than he’d expected to walk along the track to the Boyds’ block. He’d needed a bit of a rest.

  ‘Cows are like that,’ he told Norah. ‘Pleasant enough usually, but when they get it into their heads that they want to stop for a feed, they do.’ He slapped Blossom on the rump and gave her a shove. After flicking her tail at him, she condescended to amble forward again.

  At the block, he looked round. ‘Where shall we put her? Not too near the house and not too far from the well would be best.’

  ‘How shall we manage without a fence?’

  ‘Look! She’s found some grass. If you put out some water nearby, she’ll stay round here eating, I reckon, but we’ll put her on a long rope attached to a stake to start off with. They’re not roamers, cows aren’t, and even if they do wander off, they don’t move fast. She’ll soon learn where her home is, especially when we build her a shelter for the cooler weather. And don’t forget, you’ll get the dung from her, as well as the milk. The land isn’t highly fertile round here and you’ll need as much manure as you can get for your vegetable garden. You should pile the dung somewhere and cover it with branches till you need it.’

  Norah held back a smile at this, because he was so serious about it and she didn’t want to upset him. Fancy being glad of cow pats! But then she’d seen men scraping up horse droppings in the street back home to put on their rhubarb, so she supposed it was the same sort
of thing.

  Strange new life, this, but it suited her. She looked at the cow who raised her head to stare steadily back. Lovely eyes, Blossom had. Norah smiled, the cow swished her tail gently as if in response, and some of the nervousness about looking after a cow faded.

  She turned slowly in a circle, studying their land. Theirs! Their very own land. That thought gave her such satisfaction.

  If only Janie would settle down here, Norah felt sure she and Andrew could not only make a decent life for themselves but be happy together. And maybe have other children. She’d always wanted more than one.

  The milking demonstration a little later attracted all the women except Susan. The other six left their children at the main camp under the eyes of the men and each brought a container for a share of the milk, as Gil had instructed. They stood round in a circle, watching and listening carefully as he told them exactly what to do and why. He washed the cow’s udder first, explaining how vital it was to keep everything immaculately clean, then he rinsed out the bucket equally carefully before drawing down some milk. He borrowed a cup from Norah, dipping some up to give everyone a taste and smiling as they exclaimed at the creaminess of it.

  ‘That’s what we need, cream. It’s the only thing the dairy company wants, to make butter with. You’ll be left with the skim milk then, I’m afraid, gallons of it.’

  They frowned at this.

  ‘What do we do with so much?’ one asked.

  ‘Feed it to your families and get a couple of pigs to raise for bacon. They’ll drink what’s left of the milk and grow well on it. Nothing need go to waste. Now . . .’ He gestured to Norah to try milking and watched her critically, nodding approval as she gained confidence and the milk began to spurt steadily. She had firm but gentle hands. She’d do.

  When the milking was done, they gave the cow some hay to supplement the sparse grass on the block, leaving it near the drinking bucket. Then Gil shared out the milk as fairly as he could, giving the same amount to each family and double to Norah.

  ‘What about the Grenvilles?’ Pam asked.

  ‘Mrs Grenville didn’t bother to attend the demonstration, so I reckon she’s not earned a share this time.’

  There was no sympathy only smiles and pleased nods at that. Susan Grenville was a fool, Gil thought, getting on the wrong side of everyone. He couldn’t abide lazy people. He hadn’t thought much of her husband at first, either, but Bert’s hard work and everyone’s dawning understanding of what the poor man had to put up with in his marriage had made them a little more forgiving towards him.

  No wonder he was sour about life. Anyone would be bad-tempered, married to a lazy woman like that.

  Only when he got the chance for a quiet word with Pete, did Gil pull the letter out of his pocket. ‘Look at this.’ He handed it to his deputy.

  Pete cursed. ‘They’re stupid, them lot in Perth. Haven’t the sense they were born with.’

  ‘Stupid or not, we’ll have to cope. It’s too late to stop them doing this now.’

  ‘When are you going to tell the group?’

  ‘I’ll let them have another night or two in peace, then we’ll start making the necessary arrangements.’

  But they weren’t destined to have much peace. The man Gil had picked out as a weakling put his tools down at the end of the following morning, clapped one hand to his chest and keeled over without even a groan.

  Pete ran across to him, kneeling beside him, then looked up with a shocked expression. ‘He’s dead.’

  The men working nearby dropped their tools and hurried over.

  ‘One of you fetch Gil. Quick! Don’t say anything to the others yet.’

  Pete closed the dead man’s staring eyes and muttered a quick prayer, then stood and waited for the foreman.

  Gil was too used to death not to recognise it when he saw it. ‘I’d better go ahead and tell his wife. Two of you carry him back to their block.’

  ‘Poor chap,’ one man muttered. ‘To come so far and then die like that.’

  ‘What’s his wife going to do now?’ another asked.

  No one answered.

  Gil found Ernest’s wife mending her son’s breeches, which had got ripped in some rough play. He took off his hat and stood there, searching for words. But there was no easy way to say it except, ‘I’m sorry, but your Ernest has just dropped dead.’

  Flo sat like a frozen thing, then set her scissors down carefully and threaded her needle into the cloth to keep it safe.

  Gil saw a tear roll down her face, then another, but after a minute or two she dashed them impatiently from her cheeks with the back of one hand.

  ‘Why now?’ she asked. ‘He got here to Australia, came all this way. I thought he was getting better. He was certainly happier in the warmth.’

  A lad of about twelve walked out of the nearby bush dragging a couple of fallen branches for firewood. ‘What’s wrong, Mam?’

  ‘Your father’s just up and died on us, that’s what.’

  Dropping the branches, the boy went across to his mother and stood beside her, not seeming to know what to do, at the age of thin bony limbs and clumsy, oversized feet.

  Flo reached out to touch him, just once, then straightened her shoulders.

  ‘We can lay him out in the store room, if you like,’ Gil offered.

  She shook her head. ‘My Ernest’s being laid out proper at home. He allus was a homebody and that’s what he’d want.’ She looked at Gil and added, ‘After that, I’m leaving here. I never did want to come but he was set on it, and I thought—’ She paused to take a deep breath. ‘I reckoned it was his last chance, might do him good, because he wasn’t a well man. Them trenches done for him. He got pneumonia twice. Coming here might not have helped him get better, but it made him happy and he enjoyed the time on the ship, so I’m glad of that now.’

  ‘Where shall you go? Back to England?’

  ‘No, up to Perth. There’s only me and the lad now, so I’ll find a job and he can too. We’ve no one to go back to.’

  The men arrived with the body.

  Flo stood up and directed them where to lay it, then stood staring down at her husband. ‘He looks peaceful. I don’t think he suffered. I’m glad of that.’

  ‘We’ll have to take him to Pemberton tomorrow to bury him,’ Gil said. ‘There’s not a cemetery in Northcliffe yet. I’ll borrow a truck.’

  She nodded, regal as any queen. ‘Thanks. I’ll go on from there after the funeral. I’ll have to sell some of this stuff before I go.’ She gestured round at their meagre possessions. ‘Think anyone would want them?’

  ‘I’ll arrange a quick sale.’

  As he walked away he marvelled at her. They said men were stronger, but he reckoned some women were just as strong in their own way.

  The death cast a blight over the whole camp, with people talking in subdued voices. Andrew took up a collection for the widow. People who had almost nothing gave what they could, even if it was only a few pennies.

  Later Gil conducted an auction of the larger possessions Flo couldn’t carry up to Perth with her. There wasn’t a lot to sell and she said there was no more stuff coming out. The sale made enough to pay her and her son’s fares to Perth and her meagre savings would keep them till they found jobs, at least she hoped they would.

  Gil gave her some advice and suggested she go to his cousin Nelly in Fremantle first, writing her a letter of introduction. Nelly often took in waifs and strays and if she had no room for them herself, she’d find someone who had.

  He drove Flo and her son to Pemberton the next morning. The body was cursorily examined by the doctor, officially pronounced dead and a death certificate issued.

  The widow looked down at the piece of paper, stony-faced. ‘I don’t need this to know he’s gone.’ Her voice wobbled on the last words, then she pressed her lips together and put it in her handbag.

  Gil left her in the care of a woman he knew, a motherly soul who always had room for someone in trouble. While he wa
s in town, he posted letters for members of the group, picked up some more letters for them, did some shopping and finally went to enquire at the station about their heavy boxes and crates, which should have been delivered by now. He found the boxes himself, clearly labelled, sitting in a big pile to one side of the station yard.

  ‘No one’s been authorised to take them into Northcliffe,’ the stationmaster said in answer to his query.

  ‘You must have realised we needed them.’

  ‘They usually send word and then I organise it.’

  ‘I’ll find someone to do it.’

  ‘Who’s to pay? And anyway, I can’t let you have them without authorisation.’

  Gil leaned forward and said loudly and clearly, ‘Are you really going to try to stop me from taking them to their owners, folk who need them desperately?’

  The man muttered something and turned away.

  Gil found a couple of fellows to help him load as many of the boxes as possible on the truck, then slept beside it. He didn’t think anyone would steal them, but he wasn’t taking any chances. The weather was still warm enough that this was no hardship, but the nights would be cooling down soon. March was the first month of autumn, after all.

  Ernest was buried first thing the next morning and Gil attended as a matter of courtesy, though he was itching to set off back.

  The widow was dry-eyed and still had that grim, determined look to her.

  She came and shook Gil’s hand when it was over. ‘Thank you for your help, Mr Matthews.’

  ‘Will you be all right, Flo?’

  ‘I shall have to be, shan’t I? I’ve had to find jobs before when Ernest was ill, and I dare say it won’t be very different here. I’m a good worker and I usually manage.’

  Brave woman, he thought again as he drove the heavily laden truck home.

  He couldn’t forget her courage and it occurred to him very forcibly that he hadn’t been as brave as her about losing his wife. He’d wallowed in his grief. For years. Maybe it was the aftermath of the war too. He’d hated all the killing. It’d left him with an ache inside him, somehow, stupid as that sounded.