by Darry Fraser
She snorted. ‘You’d be too frightened of hurting your child,’ she said, a possessive hand over her belly.
Dane’s eyes closed and he tilted his head. ‘Ahh, my child.’ His chest expanded.
‘You know whose child this is. You wouldn’t marry me if you didn’t.’ She glared at him, holding onto her belly to still its flutter.
His eyes popped open and he looked baffled. ‘Of course I know whose child it is. It’s mine. I know it.’ He spread his hands, genuinely perplexed. ‘I was not dishonouring you.’
‘Oh.’ She fell back heavily into her seat, confused by her own emotions. Moreover, the fluttering in her belly had not ceased. She had to calm herself.
He squatted beside her chair, his blue eyes intense and moody as they held hers. ‘Georgie. Had we known you were having a baby to Conor, and then he died, I would still have wanted to marry you.’
She inhaled a sharp breath. ‘Dane.’ She covered her face with her hands and wept without sound.
He took her wrists and gently tugged her hands from her face. ‘Come, my sweet Georgie. I’ll show you where you can rest.’
‘I’m so sorry.’ She sniffed and looked about for a handkerchief until he produced one. ‘My brains have gone. I’m quite sure they’ve been heaved out of me this last month.’
‘Apparently a common affliction.’ He helped her to her feet and guided her to her own rooms in the house. He opened the door to her bedroom.
The bed beckoned, simply furnished with a thick quilt and a deck of pillows. ‘I would like to sleep.’
Dane was careful not to touch her in any other way than by a steadying hand at her elbow. He saw to it that she was comfortable, and bounded downstairs to grab the rest of her bags.
Time moved slowly for Georgie. Daylight was misery. She now had morning sickness every waking hour. Morsels of food to tempt her would only turn her stomach.
By day, Dane went to the wharf to work. By night, she sat in relative silence trying to stem her roiling stomach while he held her hand and told her of his day. She tried to be pleasant and interested but all she wanted to do was retch. She was grateful that he slept in a separate room, opposite hers.
One evening, he pressed a packet of peppermints into her hands. Her eyes watered at that, and she gratefully savoured a chip of peppermint lolly under her tongue.
She excused herself early once again, and slept almost as soon as she felt the pillow under her head.
MacNamara was stabled behind the house. At every opportunity she visited him, if Dane had not taken him out. The great horse would eye her knowingly, and nuzzle her, sometimes stamp his feet, demanding to be ridden. But she would not. She rested her head against his and apologised. For the first time in her life, riding did not have any appeal.
A week after her arrival, she woke close to tears yet again, but thankfully not bilious. The hourly purging had stopped. She dressed and sat on the edge of her bed as tears poured down her face. She couldn’t stop them coming. She groped inside her bodice for a handkerchief and wept hard into it for some moments before it stopped. A few hiccups escaped.
She must get a grip. Other mothers-to-be she’d met at those afternoon teas had said their brains were often mad early in their term. It was surely the problem. It is this stupid baby mischief that makes me someone I’m not. No more tears!
She sniffed and stretched her back, a hand on the nagging pain there again. She would have to tell someone soon. She didn’t know what it could mean.
Georgie wiped more tears. She worried for her baby. Their baby …
And Dane. So patient, so careful with her and her baby-mischief emotions. If she could trust in their marriage just a little bit, she would enjoy living a good life with him.
She set to weeping again, not because she knew it wouldn’t be a good life, but because she knew it would.
Dane, after gentle discussion with his wife, employed Mrs Anita Baker, a stout local woman versed in midwifery, as a housekeeper. Every morning, bright and early, Mrs Baker would come to clean and to chat, and to sit with the subdued Georgina until conversation was coaxed from her. It was from Mrs Baker that Dane discovered all was not well with his wife.
‘A good day, Mrs Baker?’ Dane came in from long hours on the wharf as Mrs Baker, coat on her arm, was about to leave.
‘Mr MacHenry, your wife complains of a nagging pain in her lower back, and it’s the worry of it that’s wearing her down. She won’t let me call the doctor.’ She changed her coat to her other arm and shifted her weight. ‘However, what with her being out of sorts so badly and this little pain every day, it just might be something not quite right with the baby.’ Mrs Baker took a deep breath. ‘I also believe Mrs MacHenry might be a lot further along than she thinks.’
Dane felt the thud of that in his gut, but he pushed that thought away. Not possible. The baby might not be well and that could mean Georgina’s life, too, was in danger. He thanked Mrs Baker for her care.
Without calling upstairs to see Georgie, he took a short ride to Dr Wilson’s house, requesting a visit the next day.
When Dane returned, he bounded upstairs to her room and knocked on the door.
For the first time in the couple of weeks Georgina had been married to him, she answered without delay. When she saw him standing in the doorway, she simply opened her arms.
He gathered her to him, lifted her and carried her across to the bed. He sat her on his lap, and kissed her face and her neck, holding her close.
‘Oh Dane, my brain is always so woolly,’ she said and tucked her head under his chin. ‘I am worried for our baby. I don’t know what these things mean.’
His heart swelled and his breath became short. All he managed to say was, ‘The doctor will come tomorrow.’ He was glad when she nodded. They sat, and he was happy just to be close once again. When she began to drift off to sleep, he shifted her onto the bed.
Her eyes opened. ‘Help me get out of these clothes and under the covers … ’ She turned so he could pull the bow at her throat, and the bed jacket slipped off.
He reached out and undid the buttons on her smock, edged her closer so he could pull it over her head. Georgina covered her breasts with an arm and slid under the coverlet.
‘Come in with me, Dane. I’ve missed you so.’
He had a day’s sweat and grime on him but he stripped off and climbed in beside her, tucking her against his chest and murmuring how much he loved her. She nestled closer. He eased her further under the covers, inhaled the faint perfume of soap, and slid his hands over her velvety skin.
‘Georgie.’
She stirred sleepily against him, his erection pressing hard on her bottom. He pushed between her legs.
Her full breasts were warm, the large rosy nipples darkened with the pregnancy. Her rounded belly mesmerised him and her heavier hips and buttocks filled his hands.
He groaned and buried his face against her shoulder. ‘I don’t want to hurt you,’ he whispered.
She shook her head. ‘You won’t.’
Georgina guided him inside her and he moved gently until he could no longer resist the urge to let go. He cupped the heavy breasts, squeezed gently, rubbed the nipples and sank into her body, no longer in control. When he cried out, she reached back and caressed his face, their bodies still cleaved, his glistening, hers glowing in the aftermath of lovemaking.
They woke in the late morning to more lovemaking and a sweetness between them they had not known before. Georgina clung to him as if discovering her love for the first time. He was careful again, but the struggle to contain himself was proving far too great. She matched him with fervour and when at last they lay exhausted but happy, she told him, ‘I love you, Dane MacHenry.’
He whooped his delight.
Mrs Baker was astonished at the change from one day to the next as the house became a happier place. She made her approval known, especially to Georgina, who, after all, carried the greater burden.
When Dr Wilson arrived,
he instructed Mrs Baker, in her capacity as midwife, to conduct the examination on Georgina. When done, she helped Georgina to dress. Mrs Baker relayed her information to the doctor, whose eyebrows raised. He would take over now. Mrs Baker departed as the doctor went in to see Georgina. He carried a large ear trumpet.
Moments later, Dane heard a yelp he assumed was from Georgina, then a resounding, ‘What?’ and then a long wail.
He waited in the front room for the doctor to appear, his hands wringing the closest antimacassar he could grab.
Dr Wilson met with Dane, dropping his bag at his feet. He groped in his waistcoat and pulled out a smoke. ‘Her mood is normal for some women in this stage of her condition,’ he assured Dane. ‘She says the daily sickness has eased, luckily for her. Some don’t have that pleasure.’ He stuck the cheroot between his teeth and didn’t attempt to light it. ‘So, has she complained of this pain in her back for only a week or so?’
‘Thereabouts.’ Dane stood, stiff and formal, at the mantle. The frown deepened. What had Georgina yelled about? He cast about for another antimacassar.
The doctor waved a dismissive hand, then pulled the smoke from his teeth. ‘I’m surprised she hasn’t said anything before now. I don’t think it’s serious, probably a group of muscles stretching to make room.’ He frowned then raised his eyebrows. ‘She’s a first-time mother, after all, and it is typical to be worried. Perhaps keep your conjugal distance for a while.’
Dane hollowed. To hear this now just after their reconciliation …
At the stricken look on Dane’s face, the doctor amended, ‘But only if she’s overly uncomfortable. I believe it’s more to do with the fact that twins are on the way and she is feeling every bit of the burden of carrying two babies.’
‘Two—?’ Dane’s voice stuck in his throat. Then he managed to croak, ‘Twins.’ He looked at the doctor as if seeing him for the first time. ‘Twins?’
‘Yes, twins, my man. You didn’t know? Are they in the family?’
Dane could not speak. His mouth moved silently and he shook his head until the words came out. ‘I didn’t know. I don’t know. I’ll write and ask my mother.’
‘Right.’ The doctor bent to retrieve his bag. ‘She is as far along as she says and if all goes well, they’ll arrive safely, though perhaps earlier than she expects. That’s more often the case when there’s two. We will be keeping a watchful eye on her. We should not be alarmed.’ He thumped Dane on the shoulder. ‘Any questions?’
Dane should his head. He couldn’t think of anything. Except twins.
As he reached the door, the doctor turned back to him. ‘However, if she begins to haemorrhage, or they stop moving, then you must find me immediately. Good day.’
‘Good day, Dr Wilson. Thank you.’ He saw the doctor out then sank, dazed, onto the front steps of the house.
He began to laugh, thought better of it as he recalled Georgie’s anguished yell earlier, stood and leapt back inside to go to his wife.
Dane bounded in from the wharf waving a letter in his hand. He handed it to Georgie then went back to the door and pulled off his boots. ‘It’s a telegram from Ma,’ he called from the step of the back door. ‘I wrote as soon as we heard we had twins on the way and she insists we visit immediately. Immediately. And a telegram, no less.’
He padded inside in his stockinged feet. ‘Are you up to it, Georgie?’ He brushed his lips over hers. ‘We could take a boat downriver to Swan Hill. Much easier than a carriage ride.’
Georgie held her growing roundness with one arm. ‘The sooner the better … I’m sure a small trip will be all right.’ The news that twins were arriving had settled slowly. Dane had assured her, on the day they’d learned of it, between laughing his delight and soothing her anguished cries, that they would more than adequately cope with two babies.
‘I still have my foggy brain, but I’m sure all will be well. I feel very well.’ She smiled, and winced.
‘Another kick?’
She nodded and gave a little laugh.
They agreed the plans for horses and stables would wait until the birth was behind them. Until then, she would be content to make more paper plans.
‘We could even sail on to Jacaranda afterwards. The boys working there have made great headway, I’m told.’ Dane had sent working parties to Jacaranda to begin much needed repairs and renovations.
‘By ourselves?’
‘I doubt my mother will want to visit yet. We will have to vastly change and improve it before I get her to venture there again.’
True to his word, Dane was including Georgie in his day-to-day business. He sat at a lamp-lit table by night entering figures into his cashbook, which he left for her in the morning. If she had questions, he would take her through each process in the evening until she was happy.
‘Our funds are growing,’ he said one night.
‘We have plenty,’ she replied. ‘You should not be surprised.’
He looked at her and smiled. ‘Our funds, independent of yours.’ He squeezed her hand. ‘I meant that kindly. The business can start to repay the Cawleys’ loan I took for Jacaranda.’
She laid her hand on his arm. ‘Perhaps we should have challenged Angus and his deceit about that.’
They both knew there was no point attending to it with another solicitor; the end result—Jacaranda back in Dane’s hands—was all that mattered.
He shook his head, inhaled, scowled then let the emotion drop. ‘Angus was protecting your interests, Georgie, or Conor’s, or that’s what I choose to believe … have to believe. It was only Reuben who stopped me from going to his office after that visit to Port Fairy to—But it doesn’t matter any more. I bought my own station back and I can rightfully call it mine. Ours,’ he corrected with a quick grin. ‘But I hope never to see Angus Forrestor again.’ His brows furrowed. ‘And he should feel the same about me.’
‘It’s hard on you, Dane, having to pay off the Cawleys when—’
‘It’s my pleasure after all they’ve done for me. Reuben paid me out of my share in the Captain’s Cabin, so it was easy to repay in part the Jacaranda loan with those proceeds. And it’s not as if I haven’t put my back to it before.’ He rolled his shoulders. ‘Just got soft awhile. I still have much to do—’
‘We still have much to do.’
‘Yes, we do, my love.’ He dipped his head to her hand and kissed it. ‘And the sun shines on me every day.’
Georgie watched as he bent to the light to scratch more figures on his book. Receipts and invoices were logged, inventory items checked. He’d started his freight hauling despite a slower movement in river trade. The boats also carried passengers from Echuca to Goolwa, the mouth of the mighty Murray, for a reasonable fee that undercut his competitors. He kept his boats clean. The passengers were happy; Mr Finn was happy; the men were happy.
Ultimately, the plan was Dane’s boats would carry only his own freight, decreasing his costs from the homestead to the railway station. He would reduce the number of boats when it was necessary.
‘We should visit Jemimah in a week’s time,’ he said as he closed up his ledger for the night. ‘What do you think?’
‘I am very much looking forward to that.’
Thirty-Three
A quick thrill of excitement rushed through Georgie when the short carriage ride from their home brought the Echuca wharf into view. With Dane’s help, she alighted and stood at the top of the grassy slopes of the riverbank.
Dane hired a driver who would deliver the carriage back to their house.
The Lady Goodnight, freshly painted and resplendent, gleamed in the dock.
In fact, both Conor’s boats, now Dane’s, shimmered in the morning light. The ladies Goodnight and Mitchell. The boats certainly did not remind her of happy days, just days gone by. She fought down a peculiar tightness in her throat when she recalled the frantic run to the wharf that eventually took her to Conor.
She stood awkwardly, hand on her hat as she swivelled,
looking for Dane.
Her gaze turned back to the wharf. The Sweet Georgie, Dane’s prized boat, the boat he intended to keep if he had to reduce his holdings, was lined up behind the ladies. Dane jogged on the wharf deck above her gleaming hull, shouting orders to the men unloading her.
She followed him with her eyes. A rush of affection and relief rolled through her in waves. Georgie had run to the mighty river looking for life and love with another. She was only lucky she found it with this man, her handsome, much-loved husband. Her heart lifted. The little lives within her fluttered as if they also recognised her love.
Dane strode towards her. ‘The Sweet Georgie will take us downriver, sweet Georgie,’ he said and his eyes crinkled as he laughed. ‘I am a happy man.’
She was a happy woman.
Travelling at a sturdy eleven knots until some miles out of Echuca, the Sweet Georgie and her passengers made an overnight tie up to the bank just before dark. A simple meal on board and Georgie and Dane retreated to their bunk room. Carefully, tenderly, they renewed the spark ever present between them.
He moulded her fuller breasts in his hands, cupping their silky weight. He pressed his solid chest against her back and slipped himself inside her ready body. They rocked with the ebb of the tide and fell asleep in their embrace.
She wore a simple cotton housedress over her growing form and a wide brimmed hat to sit out on deck in a good sturdy chair the following morning. She lifted her face to the sun, heard the call of the magpies over the rhythmic chug of the steamer. The low banks seemed endless, but that didn’t matter to Georgie. She saw little evidence of civilisation. A station or two, though one appeared abandoned, and the small township of Koondrook passed in moments. Barely a rise of hills to be seen on either side. A hint of eucalypt drifted past. She brushed away the flies and watched the glide of the water.
Only once did she see people. A small family of black people squatted by a fire on the southern bank. She stood and lifted a hand to wave. A young woman, clearly with child, waved back.