by Darry Fraser
The boat pushed downstream.
The river had called again and this time she was coming home. Had she been away so long? She tried to add on her fingers the months passed, the people she’d encountered; the deaths; the treachery; the lies. The love and the new life. So many events crowded into a short space of time.
Dane leaned out of the wheelhouse and smiled at her. The swarthy shadow of his day-old beard lent him the look of a rogue.
Her heart tripped a beat. It still alarmed her how easily she might have missed being part of his life. He was no longer the angry, driven man she’d met on the banks of the river—oh, was it aeons ago? Their lives were full of promise and love and life on the mighty river.
She held her belly, felt a faint kick and then another on the other side. She smiled gleefully. She, who had believed she didn’t want children.
They reached Swan Hill late in the afternoon and decided to stay aboard until the morning, when Dane would find a carriage to hire. His mother had taken a little house on the edge of town, and though the town itself was small—barely four hundred people—in her letter she directed them past the brick water tower which was on the west side.
As Dane pulled the old farmer’s cart to a halt, he glanced at Georgie. ‘Ready, Georgie?’
‘I cannot wait to see Aunt Jem.’
‘No riding astride or stout language today,’ he advocated and stepped off the cart.
She laughed. ‘Of course not.’ She began to climb off the cart and by the time he’d come to her side she was halfway down the little step. ‘I’m heavier by the minute, Dane. I don’t know how much more I’ll grow before—’
Aware her husband stood rigid beside her, she glanced at him, her hand gripped in his, the solid mass of his body stock-still. ‘What is it?’
Then she followed his gaze to the veranda where his mother stood. She saw her beautiful Aunt Jemimah once again and a smile of delight spread on Georgie’s face.
‘Aunt Jem!’
Beside Jemimah stood a man of stature. He had a head of black hair shot with silver. A man with blue eyes, dark brows and Dane’s face, though he was much older. Mr O’Rourke.
The air crackled around her. Georgie carefully moved off the precarious step of the cart and settled her feet on the ground. Her husband had not let go of her hand.
The man on the veranda focused only on Dane. His mouth opened, his nostrils moved, but he made no sound nor gesture. His intense gaze locked with Dane’s.
Dane, himself transfixed, returned O’Rourke’s stare. His breath came in gasps, and his free hand pressed at his chest. When he doubled up Georgie released his hand and gripped his shirt front. She pushed at him.
‘Dane.’
He lifted his head. He gazed at her only a moment before his eyes returned to the man on the veranda. His brow puckered, and a realisation descended; Georgie could see it come over him.
Jemimah ran down the steps. She pressed Georgie in a quick embrace then took her son’s face in her hands. ‘Dane, my boy. I know he is a great shock to you, but you are not a shock to him.’
Dane straightened slowly. He took his mother’s hands gently and slipped them from his face. He blinked once, twice, and his breathing eased.
He looked back at O’Rourke and straightened to his full height.
Then he reached for Georgie’s hand on his shirt. ‘My wife, Ma.’ His voice shook. ‘We should get her inside. A cool drink perhaps.’
Dane couldn’t control his chest rapidly rising and falling as great draughts of air dragged in and pushed out. His heart banged against his ribs and his head filled with fog.
Liam O’Rourke.
I see my face in his. No mistake. His hands are mine, but bigger. I have his height, his build …
Good God, do I sound like him? Surely not, I have no Irish accent.
He glanced at his wife. Georgie sipped at the wine Mr O’Rourke had opened for them, watching him. She seemed engrossed.
‘An old red from vines planted near Bendigo during the gold rush in the fifties,’ he said, the tell-tale lilt of brogue still present in his voice.
‘You were there?’ Dane asked, his fingers on the stem of a fine crystal glass. He tried to relax in his seat at Jemimah’s table, and stretched out his legs. Inside, turbulent and confused emotions, well guarded from his mother, he hoped, threatened to give way. His eyes never left O’Rourke.
Liam O’Rourke nodded. His gaze rested on the grown man who was his son. ‘My da and ma came out before the Potato Famine—we were lucky. So my twin brother Lorcan and I worked on the fields, saw the rush done, then had to look for more work. We grew fruit and vegetables where we could for nearly ten years, sold it off.’
‘Where is Lorcan?’ Georgie asked.
‘Renmark now, South Australia. I hear, from time to time. He has—’
‘And you met my mother how?’ Dane rested his glass on the table. He felt a pulse in his throat so strongly he thought it would easily be seen by the others. ‘What is the story?’
‘I was a young girl, all the way from England, visiting my worldly brother in Bendigo,’ Jemimah answered. She looked into her glass of wine. ‘I had gone to the street for some provisions. Liam was unloading his cart.’
Dane looked back at Liam O’Rourke. ‘You made your presence felt, apparently.’ He hadn’t meant to sound as if he were judging—
‘And so did I, Dane,’ his mother said clearly, firmly. ‘But my brother and Liam’s father would not have it, something to do with the old wars between the English and the Irish. Ridiculous.’ She coloured quickly. ‘We met often, in hiding, and for more than a year we were … Then I found I was with child, with you.’
Dane returned her stare, unblinking. He felt something in his chest give way, as if some new knowledge came to him and he could understand a little …
Impossible! How could he ever know that terror a woman might feel, with child but without a husband—
‘We went to your uncle Rupert and my da, but they wouldn’t have it.’
Jemimah took a breath. ‘I was trying to find Liam to tell him, to beg that we run away, when Tom MacHenry drove past me in his wagon. He stopped for me, a crying young woman dragging her feet in the rain, on her way to find her love. He picked me up, turned the wagon around and took me home to my brother.’ She sipped and glanced at O’Rourke. ‘Rupert kept me through my confinement and after. I refused to give you up and he was my staunchest ally. So I agreed to marry Tom. By then, you were nearly three and I was a tarnished woman well and truly.’
Tom had taken her in with her small child. A huge burden for any man at the time. At any time.
I remember his face when I was so young, always laughing. He taught me to shoot, to trap, to build a fire …
A great sorrow burrowed down. His father had forsaken almost everything to take on a woman who had lain with a man not her husband and who had borne that man’s child.
Would someone else have done that for Georgina had he not intended to marry her? The thought crushed him. He had no answer.
A muscle flicked in his jaw. He clenched his teeth. God, what a mess it would have been back then, and no better now.
He studied Jemimah. Her face serene. No sign of the anguish of years past …
He bowed his head a moment and let the breath rush out.
‘Tom was my pa,’ he said and flicked a glance at the older man.
O’Rourke nodded. ‘Yes, he was. I couldn’t be. And I will be forever in his debt for it. But,’ he spread his hands, ‘I decided if I couldn’t be married to your mother, I would never let her out of my sight, so to speak. I stayed in Bendigo, but I visited Swan Hill often, hoping for a glance when you’d come to town. Until one day someone said to me how much Tom MacHenry’s boy had the look of me. I had to be more careful for your mother’s sake, so I could only see you from a distance. When it got too much, I risked going to the homestead, more than once.’ He leaned back and looked at Jemimah. ‘A very selfish thing to
do. But I couldn’t help it.’
Jemimah took O’Rourke’s hand. Dane glanced between the two, then at Georgie, who watched him keenly.
His head was woolly. The tale unravelled as one of loss. For his mother and for Liam. And, it seemed, for Tom. His pa must have known that Jemimah loved another. He must have.
Dane recalled their talk by the river when he’d first answered Tom’s call for help. ‘But let that story be for now. It’s your mother’s to tell.’
‘You never married?’ Dane asked, aware the silence fell on him. He drained his glass. O’Rourke shook his head. ‘What is it you do?’
‘I am a fruiterer in Bendigo. Seemed right.’
Dane chinked his glass against the bottle. ‘An excellent drink, thank you, sir.’
‘Liam,’ his father said.
Dane nodded. Words failed once again.
The pressure in his chest had not let up. He had to go. Leave. Take Georgina and get to the boat. Take the river run downstream and order his thoughts. Get to Jacaranda.
He stood, cleared his throat. ‘If you don’t mind, Ma, Liam, we will continue on to Jacaranda this afternoon.’
He nodded at Georgina, who frowned a little, but didn’t rise.
Jemimah gave a rueful smile. ‘Of course. It’s not far to go.’ She stood up and walked around the table to Georgina, hugging her where she sat. ‘Elspeth would love to see you both. She was going to come tomorrow after the … introductions.’
‘We will press on for the night.’ Dane’s voice sounded tight to his own ears. ‘Georgie.’ He held his hand out for her.
Georgina took his hand and rose. Then she released Dane and offered both her hands to O’Rourke, who stood, towering over her. ‘I am very pleased to have met you.’ She pressed his hands in hers. ‘You will be an important part in our children’s lives.’
He nodded, clutched her hands and shook them, but did not speak. He sucked his cheeks, his eyes shimmering. Jemimah came to his side, unshed tears in her eyes also.
‘Georgie.’ Dane had to get out, to breath more easily. ‘We will call in on the way back,’ he told his mother, ‘but I am unsure when that will be. A few days, a week.’ He directed Georgie to the door. Then he stopped and turned back, holding O’Rourke’s gaze. ‘Will you be marrying my mother this time?’
‘Yes. Soon.’
Dane nodded, his jaw working as he clenched his teeth. Then he said, ‘Good.’
He drove the cart back to the river in silence for fear his torment would erupt. His hands gripped the reins until his fingers hurt and his forearms ached.
Thirty-Four
Georgie stood behind her husband as he sat on the steps of Jacaranda. He looked out across the dusty yard.
‘We will bring MacNamara here again,’ he said.
‘The stables look very fine, as if someone’s kept them.’ She remembered long, devoted hours cleaning stalls, polishing saddles, grooming her beloved horses. It would be a joy to have MacNamara on Jacaranda again. Douglas would be returned from the Cawley’s stables as soon as they were settled.
‘Probably Joe and Watti. I got the boys to employ them again once I started the repairs.’ He turned and frowned. ‘Was it a mistake—coming back, wanting to rebuild?’
Georgie shook her head and came to stand by him. ‘It’s not a mistake. It’s your home. Our home.’
‘It will be a long road, Georgie. There are hard times to come. The old men say another drought, too.’ He held his hand out to her. ‘I cannot promise any fine dresses or balls for you to attend.’
She laughed. ‘I don’t need such things, if I ever needed them. Besides, it might take a while before I can fit into anything other than these tents I have to wear.’ She stepped closer, the warmth of him against her leg. ‘I wish I could sit on the steps with you but I’m not sure I’d get up again.’ He hauled himself up and Georgie linked her arm with his. ‘We had a very subdued run from Swan Hill, my love. You have not said too much about Mr O’Rourke.’ She hadn’t pressed him for his thoughts in the few hours they travelled.
‘My mind is still bent over it.’ He scratched the back of his head. ‘I never knew. I never had a sense of it, not ever.’ He peered out at the afternoon sky. ‘It will take some getting used to.’ He slipped an arm around her shoulders and squeezed. ‘It’s all I have thought of these last hours.’
‘I liked him.’ Georgie thought Mr O’Rourke seemed a wonderful man. The light in his eyes when he looked at Jemimah warmed her all over. And when he looked at Dane, she thought her heart would break for all the untold regret and love she saw in his eyes. He would make her children a fine grandfather.
‘There will be unkind talk, Georgie. About my mother. Me. You. Even our children.’ He checked his hands as if to ensure they were steady.
‘We need not suffer it,’ she replied and smiled. ‘Do you remember saying that to me?’
He nodded and looked at her upturned face. ‘I do.’ She felt his arm around her relax a little. ‘But all I’ve thought since meeting him … I am an illegitimate son. I cannot inherit this place.’ A tremor moved through him and he checked his hands again.
Alarmed, she turned to face him. ‘Dane—’
‘When people learn of it, the law will move to prevent me from keeping Jacaranda. I worked, slaved all those years—’
She shook him then. ‘You are forgetting our very clever friend, Angus Forrestor. He made you buy Jacaranda from its legal owner.’
A moment passed.
‘Angus Forrestor. You’re right.’ Dane scuffed his boots and barked a laugh. ‘I haven’t thought straight since seeing Liam O’Rourke on Ma’s veranda.’
‘You did not inherit.’ She wrapped her arms around him and rested her head on his chest. ‘No one can take it away from you, now.’ She looked up. ‘No one. It could be said that Angus did you a favour.’
‘I should thank him.’
‘In a fashion.’ Georgie followed his gaze out to the distant crowded avenue of gums that lined the winding river. Some things she could thank Forrestor for, others she could not.
‘And O’Rourke himself,’ he muttered. ‘It’s too much for my head. I need to visit Tom.’ He offered her his hand. ‘Come with me?’
They walked out of the dusty house yard across a long paddock to the fenced-off plot, still marked only by a crude cross of timber. ‘A headstone next.’ He linked his arm again through hers and looked skywards once more. ‘I know it will one day take its place in my life, but I can’t help but recall the terrible events of his death. Here. In the yard beyond.’ He gestured behind him. ‘And Foley’s death,’ he said, but didn’t look at her.
Georgie squeezed his arm and remained silent.
It never was Foley’s rightful place and she didn’t want to discuss him here. She thought again about her decision not to visit his grave in Swan Hill. Perhaps she would one day. When she could understand; when she could forgive.
She turned back. She would not think of him any longer here.
Jacaranda had been her home for four long, bewildering years, and yet the comfort and the welcome she felt being back here overwhelmed her. To think that in those four years, and the many months since she left, she had come to love the place so fiercely that it was now a part of her very being. The smell of the baked dirt underfoot, the warming scent of eucalyptus on a breeze, and the mighty river’s gentle lapping on sandy banks not far away had called her home.
Jacaranda was home. The river was home.
She looked towards the homestead; a shell of itself, waiting. Work had begun and the house sat there surrounded by the saw-horses, the laid-out timbers ready for new fences and a new veranda, the smithy’s lean-to with its sturdy block and fire pit. Newly crafted bricks were stacked close to the refurbished stables ready for refitting to the main dwelling.
This would be home again, hers to love and to be loved in it. They would rebuild together and make it well again.
The sun reached for the horizon and the shado
ws of the gums lengthened.
‘We still have about an hour or more of light yet,’ Dane said, ‘but we should sleep on the boat. The house is not anywhere near ready.’ He blinked rapidly as he looked back at the wooden cross. ‘Tom had a big heart, taking my mother and me in as he did.’
Georgie felt the old affection for her step-uncle. ‘I saw a good man in him before he let his—’
‘If Liam O’Rourke hadn’t come to Jacaranda that one last—’
Georgie pressed her husband’s arm. ‘Or if Jemimah hadn’t gone to Bendigo as a girl and met him, or if Tom wasn’t driving past on that day she was utterly distraught, or if Rupert hadn’t met my mother, and if I hadn’t come here … or—or any one of the people who crossed each other’s paths.’
Dane cast her a look.
‘You can go round and round … Jemimah told me she chose survival, and now I see she meant for you as well as her. Tom MacHenry was that choice.’ Georgie turned and leaned on the rail. Too much emotion welled inside and her belly fluttered. She glanced sideways at him. ‘Aunt Jem and I went to Bendigo not long after Mr O’Rourke visited Jacaranda.’
‘You met him?’ Dane stood upright.
‘No, no. I saw him, from a distance. It was hard to forget the sight of the two of them, arguing it seemed. Then she sent him away.’ She turned her hands up. ‘Maybe Aunt Jem wanted to go to Bendigo after that, for more than one reason. She said at the time she wanted to show me my mother’s old house, where I was born.’ Georgie’s brows creased, remembering. ‘But then we saw this woman in the street, destitute, yet someone you could tell had been gentle born. She looked awful at the time, not a good advocate for being independent. She spoke of the rights of women—’
‘So, she is the one I should give a good talking to.’ Dane smiled and leaned back on the rail.
‘—that society should help with their plight if they were displaced from family. Like Jemimah had been, I suppose.’ She scraped the baked earth with her boots. ‘So we came back to Jacaranda and all seemed well again.’ Georgie leaned into his shoulder, solid and protective. ‘Till the day you arrived and Jem told me she and Uncle Tom would have to find me a place to go.’