by Anna Jacobs
Only then did she lower the frying pan.
She was beyond tears, couldn’t understand how they’d got to this stage. But she wasn’t putting up with him thumping her. She’d never tolerate that sort of treatment, would leave him first.
She lay awake for most of the night, staring into the darkness. She heard the frogs calling for a while, then they fell silent. She watched the setting moon send a spear of light into the humpy through the open gable, and saw it gradually move across the few pieces of furniture, then vanish as the moon moved down the sky.
In the morning she was up before he was awake. He was breathing stertorously, the cold in the head obviously gaining ground. Serve him right. She only relented enough to find him a couple of handkerchiefs, laying them on a stool.
She dressed quickly and went to light the fire and get the kettle boiling, then got everything ready for the milking.
He didn’t come to help her and it took a long time to do the work on her own, but she got the cream to the entrance in time for the truck. But only just.
When she went back into the hut, he was gone. She told herself she didn’t care, but she did.
And what was he doing on a Sunday? Where could he have gone? There was no group work today.
Andrew was working on a cupboard he was making from the wooden box that tins of kerosene came in. His arm was a lot better, but he wasn’t stupid enough to do any heavy work with it yet. Thank goodness it was his left arm he’d broken.
The wood was cheap, splintery stuff, soft enough to saw easily. He’d not have bought wood like that, but when it came free, it was good enough to make shelves that could hold clothes. The square kerosene tins were also useful and once empty, could be made into all sorts of things after they were washed out thoroughly and clear of the smell.
He heard someone walking towards the rough shelter he used to store things, and where he did woodwork and other household jobs on rainy days. It had been fine for a few days, but looked as if it’d rain later on. He saw it was Gil, so moved into the open to greet him. ‘You look worried.’
‘I am. About Freddie next door.’
‘Don’t talk to me about that one! You’ll never believe what he accused me of last night.’ He described what had happened.
‘He accused me of the same thing a few days ago.’
‘Has the man run crazy?’
‘He’s certainly not thinking straight. I’m worried for Irene. He’s not even carrying the water for her – and her in the family way, too.’ He kicked a small stone to one side. ‘I saw him walking down the track towards Northcliffe today, so I came up to ask if Norah would go over and see how Irene is.’
‘Good idea. She can take Janie with her. You’ll stay till she gets back? I’m sure Norah can find you something to eat.’
Gil grinned and pulled a small tin of corned beef out of his pocket. ‘I was hoping you’d invite me. This should pay my way.’
Andrew stiffened. ‘We can still afford to feed a friend!’
‘I’d rather contribute my share.’
‘You’ve done a lot for us since the accident. That’s enough.’
Gil shrugged and put the tin away. ‘It’s what friends are for.’
The two men looked at one another and each gave a small nod, then they changed the subject and began to talk about less personal matters.
Norah came back an hour later, having left Janie to keep Irene company.
Gil put his tools down the minute he saw her. ‘Well?’
‘She doesn’t know where he’s gone.’ She looked round to check that the boys weren’t within hearing, and added, ‘She’s got a bruise on her cheek. I sent Janie outside and asked if he’d hit her and she said yes.’ She saw Gil’s fists clench and added quickly, ‘But she hit him back with the frying pan and threatened to hit him while he was sleeping if he touched her again.’
Gil’s worried expression relaxed a little. ‘Good on her.’
‘I can’t abide chaps who beat women,’ Andrew said. ‘I didn’t think he was that sort. He was quite cheerful on the ship, but he’s changed since we got here.’
‘Well, we all know he doesn’t like milking cows or doing heavy physical work, though what else he thought he’d be doing on a farm beats me.’ Gil looked at Norah. ‘You’ll keep an eye on her? It’d make things worse if I went near her, but I can’t help worrying about her.’
‘Yes, of course.’
Norah didn’t say anything to Andrew, but it had become increasingly clear to her that Gil was deeply smitten with Irene. She hoped he’d have the good sense not to do anything about his feelings because that could lead only into great unhappiness for both of them. She wasn’t sure whether Irene knew how he felt.
Poor Gil. He looked so lonely sometimes.
18
Freddie hardly noticed his surroundings as he walked along the track towards Northcliffe. His head was full of the cold and he felt rotten, but he was sweating and it wasn’t raining, so hadn’t bothered with his overcoat. His anger carried him along at a brisk pace. He knew a fellow in one of the other groups was selling sly grog, as they called it here. Freddie intended to arrange a supply of this illicit, home-made booze for himself, because he was sure it’d be cheaper than buying it through Len. Sometimes you needed a nip of something to cheer yourself up, especially when you had a cold, as he had now.
He got to the next group of farms, which had more land cleared than his group and proper wooden houses instead of pigsties like the one he was living in, and asked for the man who sold booze by name.
The fellow he spoke to winked and told him where to go.
When he got there, Freddie bought two bottles of clear spirit, which had no taste, but had a fiery kick. He paid his money – less than he’d paid Len, so it was worth the trip – then set off back home. But he was shivery now and he’d developed a cough, which seemed to be getting worse by the minute.
He decided to sample the brew. Everyone knew a drink was good for coughs. The warmth of the raw spirit felt good as it trickled down his sore throat. Noticing a clearing to one side with a fallen log in it, he stopped for a rest. He sat down, waited till another bout of coughing had passed and raised one of the bottles in a mock toast. ‘Down with Australia!’ He took another good swig. ‘Ah, that’s better.’
A few swigs later he was feeling warmer and had stopped coughing. It seemed stupid to go the long way home by the track when he could cut through the forest, so that’s what he did.
He felt nicely relaxed now. Birds were calling everywhere, little creatures scuttled away as he passed and in the distance he saw a group of kangaroos, with two joeys hopping around them like bouncing bundles of sticks. At the sight of him, the little ones dived headfirst into their mothers’ pouches and the whole group took off, bounding away through the trees.
He grew tired and was feeling a bit light-headed, so stopped for another rest, sitting on the ground with his back against a tree, closing his eyes for a minute or two.
When he woke it was dusk and he was shivering. He cursed himself for taking the shortcut. You could follow a track after dark but it was much harder to find your way through the forest.
It began to rain and he hunched up his collar, not feeling hungry only thirsty. He took a nip of booze every now and then to help him on his way, had to because his chest was feeling really rough now, and he kept coughing up phlegm. He’d never felt this rotten with a cold before. Everything was worse in Australia. No wonder they had to bribe people to come and settle here by giving them land.
Tears came into his eyes as he thought of England. He should never have left, hadn’t realised how homesick he’d feel.
His limbs felt heavy and he had to force himself to move forward. When he stopped for another rest, he admitted to himself that he was lost. Maybe he should stay here till dawn? Yes, that would be the thing to do. He might be going in the wrong direction. Once the sun rose, he’d know which way to go.
He was chilled through, b
ut there was nothing he could do to keep warm, so he huddled in a hollow at the foot of a large tree, which kept most of the rain off, at least. He took another nip or two, his head spinning.
He’d done it all for Irene, come here to save her life, and was she grateful? No, she wasn’t.
He slid slowly sideways, curling up into a ball, shivering again. He’d get up in a minute or two and move about to keep himself warm. He just needed a bit of a rest first.
When Freddie didn’t come home by dusk, Irene was really worried. Where could he be? He hadn’t made any close friends here, was rather scornful about most of the other groupies, and there simply wasn’t anywhere to go. Besides it had rained several times today and Freddie didn’t like getting wet.
She pulled the stew off the heat and left it to one side of the fire to keep warm. She wasn’t hungry, so paced to and fro, looking at the clock from time to time, always surprised at how few minutes had passed since she last looked.
But eventually, the slow hands crawled round to nine o’clock and she couldn’t bear it any longer. She lit the lantern, put on her warm coat and tied a shawl round her head as well, treading carefully through the darkness, trying to avoid the puddles and mud, stopping every few minutes to listen and call his name.
When she got to the next house and banged on the door, she heard Andrew exclaim in surprise and the door opened.
‘Irene! Is something wrong?’
‘Yes. It’s Freddie. He’s been out all day and hasn’t come home. I can’t think where he can be.’
He drew her inside and Norah insisted she sit down and wrap a blanket round herself. ‘I’d better go and tell Gil. We might have to get a search party together. If you stray off the track, it’s easy to get lost after dark.’
‘I’ll come with you,’ she said at once.
‘I’ll go faster on my own and anyway, you don’t want to risk falling, not in your condition.’
So she stayed with Norah. From the other side of the humpy, the children called out, asking what was wrong and were told to get back to sleep.
It was over an hour before Irene heard voices. Norah had dozed off but woke up when the door opened and Andrew came in, accompanied by Gil and Pete.
‘No sign of him?’ Irene asked.
Andrew shook his head. ‘None, I’m afraid.’
‘I saw him earlier today walking towards Northcliffe,’ Gil said.
Irene frowned. ‘I don’t know why he’d go there.’
Pete cleared his throat. ‘He – er, might have been going to buy some grog.’
She saw Gil look at him sharply, but Pete was avoiding the foreman’s eyes.
‘Where would he get booze from?’ Gil asked.
‘There’s a fellow with a still just outside town. Makes a brew every now and then. Good stuff it is, too.’
‘You should have told me about it.’
Pete shuffled his feet. ‘Aw, it’s only a drink or two. The bloke can’t make more than a dozen bottles at a time.’
Rain suddenly began to patter on the metal roof of the humpy. Gil sighed. ‘We called out all the way here and there was no answer. We can’t do anything till morning. Perhaps they’ve had a booze-up somewhere and are sleeping it off.’
‘Freddie wouldn’t have joined in that sort of thing,’ Irene said. ‘He mostly drinks on his own. In England he didn’t drink in the pub but bought jugs of beer and brought them home.’ She looked at Gil. ‘Can’t you search for him tonight?’ Even as she spoke, thunder rumbled in the distance and the rain began pounding down so hard on the metal roof they had to raise their voices to be heard.
‘We’d get nowhere in weather like this,’ he said gently. ‘We’ll go at first light, I promise you. Can we stay here, Norah?’
‘Yes, of course. We’ll make up a bed on the floor for you men. Irene can have Andrew’s bed.’
As the sky began to turn from black to grey, Gil woke abruptly. It was still raining outside, but at least they’d be able to see where they were going. Norah got up and he heard her in the lean-to, getting the fire burning, coaxing it into a blaze.
Irene jumped suddenly out of bed and ran to the door. He heard her being sick outside, poor thing, and remembered that Mabel had been sick in the mornings, too. Afterwards Irene went into the lean-to and he heard the women’s voices, low and companionable.
As he got up and roused the others, the women came into the humpy with some bread and jam, and a pot of tea. The men ate quickly, drank the warm liquid down to the last dregs, then set off with sacks round their shoulders to protect them from the rain.
When they were out of Irene’s hearing, Andrew said abruptly, ‘I hope he found shelter somewhere. He had a really bad cold on Saturday.’
‘There’s a providence that usually looks after drunken fools.’
There was no sign of him on the way to the camp ground, so Gil harnessed his horse and set off in the cart with Andrew, leaving Pete to direct the teams about where to work today.
They had no difficulty finding the man who brewed the booze. At first he tried to pretend they were mistaken, but Gil cut him short. ‘We know you’re selling booze, and we aren’t looking to interfere in that, but we’ve a man missing, so tell us what you know.’ He described Freddie.
‘I sold two bottles to him yesterday morning. He didn’t say much, just paid and walked off with one in each pocket. He kept coughing and sneezing, but he hadn’t even got an overcoat on, the fool. He looked feverish and was very hoarse.’
With a sigh, Gil drove slowly back, stopping to check anything resembling a track. But they found no signs of Freddie and of course the rain had washed out any footprints.
When he got back to the camp ground, he clanged the metal triangle as loudly as he could. He’d arranged with Pete to do this if they needed to make a full search.
The other men came tramping in and listened as he explained about Freddie. Dividing them into pairs, he arranged a careful search of the sides of the track from Northcliffe to their own group’s blocks.
It was a long day, with no signs of Freddie. But just as it was getting dark, Ted stopped. ‘Shh! I think I heard something.’
He and his partner listened intently.
‘Sounds like a wounded animal to me,’ the other man said.
‘Let’s go and find out.’
They found Freddie delirious, calling out then shaking so hard his voice fractured and was lost. They couldn’t rouse him, so carried him back to the track and cooeed to let the others know he was found.
As they stood there, wiping the rain from their faces, they heard the call passed on from one group of searchers to the next. When Gil arrived with the cart, they lifted him on to it, but someone had to sit with him because he kept thrashing around. The other men were cold, but Freddie’s skin was burning with fever.
Irene turned white at the sight of her husband and pressed both hands to her cheeks with a little moan. She had reason to be upset, Gil thought. Freddie was in a bad way. Congestion of the lungs, if he’d ever heard it, the phlegm rattling in the sick man’s chest as he alternately shivered and gasped for breath.
She pulled herself together. ‘Bring him inside.’ She turned back the bedding and they laid him down. He was still thrashing round.
‘I’ll go and fetch the nurse,’ Gil offered.
She looked down at Freddie then at Gil. ‘It won’t do any good. I’ve seen people in this state, been like it myself, too. He’s beyond human help now, isn’t he? Only God will decide if he lives or dies.’
He didn’t try to fool her, admired her courage. ‘Yes. But I’ll still fetch the nurse. We have to try everything.’ So once again he set off into the darkness, encouraging his horse and letting it pick its own way.
Freddie gradually quietened. He opened his eyes and stared round, seemed aware that he was in his own bed and gave a long groaning sigh.
‘Would you like a hot drink?’ Irene asked.
He didn’t seem to understand but she went and b
rought a cup of tea. With Andrew’s help, they got a few mouthfuls down him. His breath was rattling in his lungs and it seemed painful for him to breathe, so they propped him up. He lay with eyes shut for a while, then looked at her again, really looked at her.
‘Stupid,’ he said quite clearly. ‘Should have stuck to the track.’
‘Well, you’re home again now.’
He fumbled for her hand. ‘Safe with you.’
‘Yes.’
Norah arrived. ‘I’ll stay with you as long as necessary.’
Irene clasped her hand for a minute. ‘Thank you.’
‘Is he making sense or is he delirious?’
‘I think he was making sense a few minutes ago, but now he’s delirious again. He keeps throwing off the covers.’
For a few minutes they fought to keep Freddie covered, but he was too strong for them, so they had to let him kick off the blankets and lie there with the sweat congealing on his skin. Then he started shivering and when they pulled up the covers again he let them.
‘Stupid bitch,’ he said clearly at one stage. ‘Don’t want a child.’
Irene bent her head for a minute or two, fighting against tears. They’d both made the child, not just her.
Time seemed to stand still as the two women tried to care for the sick man. At one stage they had to call Andrew in to hold Freddie down on the narrow stretcher bed. Then a few minutes later he seemed to be sleeping. But not for long.
It was three hours and nearly dawn before Gil returned with the doctor, who’d been attending someone in Northcliffe’s tiny hospital. Andrew was standing outside, drinking a cup of tea and staring out at the block. When they got out of the doctor’s car, he said simply, ‘He’s bad.’
The doctor went inside.
‘I’ll get you a cup of tea,’ Andrew said.
‘Thanks.’ Gil waited, because that was all he could do for her. ‘I had to wait for the doctor to see to a bad injury, couldn’t get him here any quicker. We were lucky I didn’t have to go into Pemberton.’ He took a few gulps, sighing with pleasure. ‘Your wife’s a wonderful woman, very capable.’