Daughter of the Murray

by Darry Fraser

  Especially now he had Jacaranda once more. He would invite his mother back to her home and restore it to its original splendour. He hoped she might lay her demons to rest and enjoy it once again, despite her current aversion. Perhaps Mr O’Rourke would also enjoy it.

  ‘And marriage, I would hope,’ Angeline stated flatly, bringing Dane back to the present. ‘It is all very well to dally with this girl’s affections, as long as you have honourable intentions.’

  ‘I haven’t dallied. Of course not. If she had consented already, I’d be organising my wedding now.’

  ‘Nonsense. I would be organising the wedding. You, my boy, are just as likely to run her off to an office or some other dreary place.’

  Dane laughed. ‘I might have to, she might not stand still long enough to attend the wedding of the year.’

  ‘I for one cannot understand why you let her go in the first place—before her marriage to Katie’s brother.’ Angeline sipped her tea.

  ‘Perhaps it is not our business, my dear,’ John Cawley chided gently.

  ‘Perhaps not.’ Angeline was still intent on Dane’s answer.

  ‘I believed she had played a part in conniving the disappearance of the family fortune.’ Dane gave a short laugh at the non-existent MacHenry fortune. ‘After some introspection—difficult, to say the least—I transferred the blame to myself. It seemed I had for so long neglected my own family. Inadvertently, I might add in my defence.’ He folded his arms. ‘I wanted to blame her. I did blame her. I drove her to Foley, of that I’m sure.’

  ‘I don’t think so, Dane,’ Angeline said, her tone much softened. ‘Kate told me her brother had already announced his intention to marry Georgina.’

  Dane knew it to be the truth—Georgina had told him so herself. ‘Well, at the time I was thinking about marrying her, I had known her one week, if that.’ He looked up at his second family. ‘It would have been a very strange affair indeed had I married her then.’

  ‘Much too early, my dear.’

  John Cawley shook his head. ‘You boys can get yourself into some tangles.’

  Reuben laughed. ‘Not me, Father. I’m as content as an old kangaroo. Amelia is the only one for me, thankfully. I don’t want any more of this heartstrings stuff.’

  ‘A reformed rake,’ Dane muttered good-naturedly. ‘Only the worst kind.’

  ‘Exactly that, my friend. As you perhaps seem to be.’

  Angeline cut short their jibing. ‘What will you do now, Dane?’

  He swallowed the last of his rum. ‘Angus Forrestor has drawn up the legals on all of it and by the end of the month, we should be settled.’

  ‘Very satisfactory.’ Reuben finished his rum. ‘And then, I certainly want to meet this Georgina of yours. She seems to have tamed the raging beast, my old friend.’ He waggled his eyebrows.

  Dane snorted. ‘Unlikely.’

  ‘The meeting or the taming?’

  In the following weeks, Angus Forrestor kept Dane informed of the progress made with Georgina, mainly by telegraph. They waited as the original documents travelled back and forth by mail. As hoped, she signed all the relevant papers required to sell to this Melbourne Land & Holdings and to Capital Properties.

  He wrote to his mother that he had purchased Jacaranda, and if she so wished, he would install her there.

  Jemimah’s return letter stated that ‘Jacaranda was devastated by the violent deaths upon it and I would be hard pressed to make my home there again. Instead, I ask you to purchase a small property in Swan Hill for me where I would be content to live out my life. Elspeth might marry in a year or two, perhaps a monetary wedding gift from you would suffice for her.’

  There was no admonition in her words, but he bore the heavy guilt of neglecting her, all the same.

  ‘As for myself,’ his mother continued, ‘I am quite taken by the pleasant and attentive company of Mr O’Rourke. It is my fervent wish that you meet him, Dane. We have to discuss a number of things and Mr O’Rourke must be party to that. Please write with the date of your visit, son.’

  Dane pursed his lips. This Mr O’Rourke was definitely someone he needed to meet.

  He hung his head.

  Jacaranda. When it was lost, he had made it his goal to return it to his family. Now they didn’t want it. But he would make it great again, for himself. For his wife and his family. He would have a home to be proud of.

  He had plans. He would crop, farm with new ideas, educate himself about the new irrigation project …

  Georgina.

  He still expected to hear from her that she was in the family way, but as another month had passed and no screams for help had come by mail or telegraph, Dane surmised she was not with child.

  In that case, he would have to take the next careful step in his plan.

  Thirty

  Georgie idled her way along the little beach over which Port Fairy stood sentinel. Life was peaceful for her here. Her neighbours were kind and not intrusive, and the townsfolk were reserved, although generally suspicious of a single woman in their midst with no apparent male to keep her.

  She removed her shoes and stockings, careful not to attract attention, and paddled in the ocean at her leisure. It was cool, the day overcast, but the water invigorated her. Sometimes she wished she could throw off all her clothes and wade in to splash.

  That would most certainly not do.

  Her little house was comfortable, not the kind she would have expected Conor to buy. It was almost a bungalow, a single storey with a separate kitchen room, two comfortably sized bedrooms and a sunny morning room facing the ocean. It was weather-proof, something many other houses hereabouts were not. It had a little garden that she found she enjoyed.

  But it wasn’t by the river.

  Georgie missed living there. Missed the wide plains near Jacaranda, the tall gums, the screeching birdlife, the pleasant balmy heat in spring and, in early summer, the eucalypt-fragranced breeze skimming across the water. One day, she would buy a house somewhere there, somewhere along the Murray. She would go home.

  She’d never given another thought to moving to New South Wales as she’d vowed to do. She was content for the moment, and kept her restlessness at bay by taking long walks on the beach. Deborah had long since ceased to accompany her on these walks. It was too cold, she said, and she would prefer to visit her new friend, a widow named Agnes Story, instead. Georgie was happy for Deborah to have made friends, and something of their old, friendly relationship returned. She was no longer uncomfortable in Deborah’s presence, and Deborah had recovered her happy nature again. Georgie suspected Mrs Story’s companionship was to blame.

  Buttons had sought stock carefully for her but he had secured a position with another gentleman and could not provide his services any longer. She wished him well. Georgie instead discovered stables in the township that belonged to a Mr Caxton. She had approached one day to chat, but his surly rebuttal did not encourage further conversation. Thoughts and plans of horses and stables to put them in would have to wait.

  Georgie padded up the grassy slope to her little house, looking left and right to ensure nobody had seen her without her stockings. She ran to her door and rushed inside, her feet suddenly cold, the sand gritty underneath.

  The house was cosy. She pulled her skirts up and lifted her foot onto the hall stand to brush away the sand, when a male voice startled her so badly she nearly fell over.

  A strong arm gripped her elbow. ‘Not showing a pretty ankle about town, are you, Georgie?’

  Despite the sudden fright, she steadied herself and snatched her arm away. ‘What are you doing here—and in my house?’

  Dane took her arm more gently. ‘I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to frighten you.’

  ‘Didn’t you? How could you not frighten me, sneaking into my house and—Let go of me!’

  ‘The door was open and it’s brisk outside. Much warmer in here.’

  ‘How did you come? MacNamara?’

  ‘No. He is stabled at th
e Cawleys’s. I took the coach, and walked from the township.’ He held out his hand, indicating she should move into the little sitting room. ‘It’s a very long and uncomfortable journey.’

  Georgie padded to a chair closest to the fire. ‘I hope you’re not intent on staying.’ She reached into the wood basket, snatched up a sturdy piece, and threw it into the glowing hearth.

  ‘I am.’ He helped himself to whatever was in the decanter on the sideboard, pouring two glasses. ‘I trust you are in robust good health.’ He handed her a glass, sniffed at the contents of his.

  She took the glass and set it on a little table alongside her. ‘You didn’t come here to enquire of my health. How did you find me?’ She folded her arms.

  ‘It wasn’t difficult. You had left no instructions that your new place of abode was to remain a secret. It was a simple enough task to find out.’

  ‘And now you’re here.’ She snatched up the glass then frowned at it.

  ‘Sherry.’

  ‘I know that.’ She swallowed it in one gulp, and wondered if she shouldn’t have.

  He stood by a vacant chair. ‘We have much to discuss, and much more to look forward to. I didn’t believe you would run away again.’

  ‘I did not run away. There was nothing further for us to discuss; the matter was closed when the sale went through.’ She closed her hands into fists and rested them in her lap.

  ‘That is true, if we are speaking only of business.’ He eased his tall frame into the chair, his legs stretched out to absorb some heat from her merry little fire. ‘Which we are not. I want to visit you, and with good intentions. It’s the natural progression of our courtship. I want marriage, so there is still much to discuss.’

  ‘That really is laughable.’ She felt her face pinch.

  He placed his glass on a side table. ‘Where is Deborah?’

  ‘She’ll be along soon.’

  ‘When she comes in, dismiss her for the evening.’

  ‘I will not. I happen to be known here as a respectable widow.’

  ‘For God’s sake,’ he said tiredly. ‘It still hasn’t occurred to you I might mean what I say.’

  ‘The business is sold. There is no reason any longer to press me like this—’

  ‘I want you to be my wife, Georgina. Tell me I’m wrong in believing you want that as well.’

  Instead of her voice, Georgie heard small puffs of breath push out of her lungs. ‘I—haven’t thought any such thing,’ she managed, and then felt heat flame her face.

  ‘I don’t believe you.’ Dane spoke softly as he stood and reached for the decanter to refill their glasses.

  Georgie eyed her glass suspiciously. She didn’t touch it. She didn’t want to dwell on his proposal, either.

  ‘I don’t wish for our meetings to be so strained, Georgie. I seem to remember the pleasure the last time we met.’

  ‘Please.’ She pressed her hands to her ears, her face flaming anew.

  ‘We got along extremely well, I happily recall. But my proposal of marriage was left unanswered.’

  ‘And I remember that it was not.’

  ‘I will keep returning until you consent.’

  ‘You presume I will consent.’

  ‘I presume nothing,’ he said, removing his coat. He placed his booted feet on the edge of her chair and she moved her legs aside for fear she would not resist his touch.

  They heard a door open and close and Dane rose to his feet. ‘Ah, Deborah. Nice to see you again.’

  Deborah grinned broadly at him. ‘Only a matter of time, Mr MacHenry—’ she began then had the misfortune of spying her mistress. ‘Oh—miss, I can explain … ’

  Georgina leapt to her feet. ‘Out,’ she snapped, pointing to the door.

  Dane nodded at Deborah. ‘Perhaps you have somewhere else to stay for tonight, Deborah. Mrs Foley will be quite all right here. Go on,’ he said. Dropping his voice, he added, ‘You’ll still have your job tomorrow.’

  ‘Thank you, sir,’ she said. She ducked out the door without another glance at Georgie.

  Dane closed it behind her. ‘Both Manning and Deborah have been in my employ as well as yours,’ he confessed blithely. ‘I needed to know you were in good health, and safe.’

  ‘I have no doubt about their employment, now.’ Hands on hips, she faced him squarely. ‘I have never in all my life encountered such a man as you.’

  ‘Stop glaring at me that way.’ His voice dropped. ‘You don’t hate me, I know that.’ He sat down again. ‘I needed to see you, Georgie. You are in my blood, you are in my head, you walk with me daily, which is a distraction I can no longer keep at bay.’ He rubbed his hands over his face. When he looked back at her, his eyes were bloodshot and tired. He sighed, and rested back in his chair.

  Her life was shifting, as if strings were being pulled, as surely as if she were a marionette. She looked at him at home in her house, languid in the chair, comfortable with a mid-morning glass of sherry. Domestic, charming, secure, but now perhaps just a little vulnerable.

  ‘Despite what you might think, I am glad the Carriers was sold to you as you wished. To meet your needs.’

  He smiled wearily. ‘The boats are integral to my next venture. I plan to crop, once we have adequate water again. And it means you have more money in your pocket. Jacaranda—’

  ‘I wanted to sign Jacaranda back to you,’ she offered quickly. ‘I insisted. But this Capital Properties company purchased it as an important part of their—’ She stopped when she saw his expression. ‘What is it?’

  He looked as if he was in shock. He sat there for some moments, speechless. Then, ‘You’d have signed Jacaranda back to me?’

  ‘Yes, but—’

  ‘—but it was sold, instead.’

  Georgie nodded, watched the deep frown that formed on his face—a measure of anger, she thought. Clearly, Jacaranda’s loss was a nerve still raw. Why had she been so eager to bring it up?

  ‘Well,’ he said softly, shaking his head. ‘Life does have its twists and turns.’ He rubbed a hand over his mouth.

  ‘You are struggling with it. I’m sorry.’ Georgie’s gaze roved over his face, so close. A lightness overwhelmed her, a heady, sweet, flooding relief. Her heart swelled.

  He reached across and steadied her hand with his. ‘Truly, that you thought to deed it back to me is enough … ’ His voice trailed away as he sighed heavily. ‘But the deeds of some men … ’ He was silent for long moments, frowning again. Then he looked at her and smiled. ‘That whole issue can wait. We will discuss it further, but not now … not today.’ He shook his head again. ‘Georgie, I’m asking you to marry me.’

  She let her hand rest in his. ‘Marriage. I have already been there.’ She sat up straight, lifted her shoulders, tilted her head. ‘I do not want marriage if I’m to be a useless, coveted possession, to be dictated to.’

  He dropped his gaze to their joined hands. ‘As it should be. We would discuss and agree on any given subject before we go any further.’

  ‘I do not want marriage if I cannot explore the things which mean a great deal to me.’

  He nodded. ‘You should explore those things. Unless they exclude me totally, that is. I wouldn’t allow that.’ He dipped his head and his lips brushed the back of her hand.

  Warmth tingled through her. ‘I do not want marriage if I cannot be a part of my husband’s life. Of all of his life.’

  Dane looked up at her. ‘Naturally.’ He waited. ‘And is there not another most important thing to want in a marriage?’

  Flustered, she removed her hand. ‘Well, I—want to love and be loved. Of course.’

  ‘Of course. Thankfully.’

  She took a deep breath. ‘So, now you have your purchase from the estate, you won’t need to … acquire me any longer. In any case, I have just stated I would be altogether too demanding.’

  His hand cupped her face, warm fingers toying with a lock of her hair. He left his seat to kneel beside her and kissed her cheek, pressing hi
s face against hers. ‘I don’t want an acquisition for a wife.’

  He scraped his chin against that little spot on her neck he’d discovered not so long ago. Then he pulled back and looked at her, taking her face in his hands to kiss her. ‘I want a warm, passionate woman beside me. To light a fire in me, to bring me joy and laughter and maddening frustration and all of the things you already bring to my life.’ He looked into her eyes. ‘I want the things you want for you. Without them you wouldn’t be you. I need you to be those things, for both of us.’

  ‘Is that so? They are pretty words.’

  ‘It is so. And they are more than just words.’

  He looked so solemn, so sincere, her heart danced a jig.

  Georgie smiled a little then brought her lips to his in a firm kiss. She murmured against him, ‘I don’t sew, nor do I do any other wifely types of things.’

  ‘I hope you can at least cook an egg.’

  ‘I ride horses.’

  ‘And so very well. You will have your horses. Though I would ask you don’t aim the horse or quirt at me too often.’ His voice faltered. ‘Georgina.’ He stroked her cheek again, brushed fingertips over her lashes.

  ‘You would teach me your business?’

  ‘I would. The parts of it you’d want to learn.’

  ‘I have heard that before.’

  ‘But not from me.’

  ‘I’d want to learn everything. Everything. To be a part of all of it.’ His fingertips danced down her cheek to her neck, glided down to the swell of her breast. She looked at him, her heartbeat quickening in anticipation. ‘Dane, it’s so very early in the day … ’

  ‘But not too cold here by the fire.’

  They lay together on the floor in front of the hearth, clothes strewn about them, love sated, and loving beginning. When their stomachs growled, they hurriedly dressed and went to the kitchen.

  They ate bread and mutton in her room, naked once more and happy on her bed, laughing as it creaked under their weight. They drank the sherry and made love again, falling asleep in each other’s arms, only to wake in the night to love each other again.