by Bonnie Leon
Hating the sight of them, Daniel turned back to the cow. He looped a rope around her neck. “Come on, then. Give it a go. You can’t stay ’ere.” He glanced at the scavengers. “You’ll end up as tucker for them.” He pulled, but the cow didn’t budge. “Get up! There’s water in the creek.” He hauled harder on the rope. “Come on, now.” The cow only shifted slightly but remained prone.
Daniel walked to his horse and tied the rope to the saddle horn. “You’re coming with me one way or the other,” he said, climbing onto his stallion’s back and kicking him in the sides. The horse moved forward, and the rope tightened. The cow didn’t move. Daniel kicked the horse and urged him on. The rope grew taut, and the cow’s neck stretched. Her eyes widened, and she let out a bawl. Daniel wouldn’t relent. “You’re not going to lie ’ere and die!” Finally the cow stumbled to her feet. For a moment she looked as if she might go down again, but she managed to maintain her footing. When Daniel moved ahead slowly, she followed.
Some of the herd was at the creek. The ailing cow trotted toward the stream and buried her nose in the water, slurping up blessed moisture. Daniel removed the rope, realizing that he’d probably only prolonged the animal’s life by weeks. Feed was sparse, and each day the water level in the creek dropped. When it dried up the animals would succumb.
He moved upstream before climbing from his horse. The stallion walked into the creek and sucked up the water. Staying clear of the muddied water, Daniel stepped into the coolness and knelt. He cupped his hands and drank, then filled his hat and dumped water over his head. He repeated the indulgence twice more. Combing back wet hair, he reluctantly replaced the hat.
After that, he refilled his canteen, led his horse out of the creek, and climbed into the saddle. He rode to a nearby barn where there were hungry cattle to feed.
A mob waited for him. Rather, they waited for the hay he’d put out. Hot and weary, Daniel dragged himself off his stallion and walked into the barn. Why was he bothering? The supply of hay wasn’t nearly enough to see them through. He was only putting off the inevitable—the starvation of his cattle and the end of Douloo. Nevertheless, he lugged hay out of the barn and scattered it in a crib. He couldn’t give up. He’d work until there was nothing else to be done.
Daniel moved back and forth between the barn and the cribs until he’d put out just enough to diminish the hunger of the skinny mob. With the herd munching, Daniel slipped off a bag from his saddle and walked to the shade, just inside the barn doorway. He sat, knees bent, and leaned against the wall.
His stomach rumbling with hunger, he opened the canvas bag. “So, Lily, what did you make today?” He dug into the sack and lifted out a sandwich wrapped in a napkin. After uncovering it, he bit into meat and cheese pressed between slices of fresh-baked bread. Resting his head against the building, he chewed. Here in the shade the heat seemed tolerable. He studied a cluster of plump, white clouds and tried to envision them building into black billows filled with moisture. If only it would happen.
Without warning, a searing pain pierced Daniel’s left hand. Jumping to his feet, he clutched the hand to his chest. It pulsed like a hot poker had been rammed into it. He looked at the ground around him. What had bitten him? A tiger snake cut a path across the dusty ground and slipped away, hiding among dry grasses.
Daniel looked at his hand. Already it was swelling. Blood seeped from the wounds where the snake had buried its fangs. “Blimey!” he uttered, grabbing the handkerchief from around his neck and wrapping it tightly about his arm just above his wrist. That ought to slow the poison, he thought, knowing he had little time to get home. It wouldn’t take long for the venom to dispense itself throughout his body and bring him down.
Bracing his hand against his chest, he walked toward his horse. Careful to keep his left arm tucked close against his body, he reached up and grabbed the saddle horn with his right hand. Shooting pains stabbed; he sucked air and groaned. Pressing his forehead against the horse’s side, Daniel waited for dizziness and nausea to diminish. “Keep moving,” he said, and planted his foot in the stirrup. It felt awkward mounting from the right side, but he managed to push up and drop into the saddle.
The earth swirled about him. He leaned forward, taking slow breaths and trying to steady himself. His heart hammered. Nausea was nearly overwhelming. I gotta get home. Grabbing the reins and kicking the horse in the flanks, he turned toward the house.
Flat land stretched endlessly in front of him as he moved across it. Sun baked the ground, and the wind swirled dust into the air. Daniel struggled to breathe. Spikes of pain shot through his hand. He gazed at a blue sky, and despair swept over him. “Why, God? Haven’t we enough trouble?”
The horse plodded toward home, and the minutes clipped by. Daniel knew each breath carried him closer to death. The world tilted at an odd angle, and it was so hot . . .
He slumped over the saddle.
Woodman saw him first. He ran into the yard. “Daniel! Daniel!” He dragged his friend off his horse. “What’s ’appened ta ya, lad?”
Daniel managed to whisper, “Snake.”
Jim ran up to the two men, glanced at Daniel, and said, “I’m going for the doctor.” He sprinted to the corral.
“Daniel!” Rebecca screamed, running down the steps. “Daniel!” Holding up her skirts, she raced across the yard. “What’s happened to him? He isn’t dead, is he?” she asked tentatively.
“No. He’s alive but real sick.” Woodman picked up Daniel as if he were a child.
“Oh, Daniel,” Rebecca said, caressing his cheek. “He’s burning up!” Her eyes searched his body, seeking out what could have caused this. When she saw his swollen, discolored hand and arm, she gasped. “Oh, my Lord! His hand!”
Woodman glanced at the wound. “Snakebite.”
Rebecca walked alongside Daniel and Woodman. “Is he going to die?”
Woodman didn’t answer but kept moving toward the house.
Willa and Mildred waited on the porch. Willa looked from her son to Woodman. “How bad is it?”
“Don’t know, mum. We need ta get him ta bed.”
“Of course,” Willa said, sounding as if this were just another everyday difficulty that needed sorting out. She hurried up the stairs in front of Woodman. Rebecca and Mildred followed.
“What kind of snake was it?” Rebecca asked, her heart pounding beneath her ribs.
“Don’t know, mum.” Woodman settled Daniel on his bed. “Need Lily,” he said, looking at Daniel’s hand. He loosened the handkerchief.
“Lily! Lily!” Willa called, stepping into the hallway.
Lily appeared a few moments later. She shuffled into the bedroom. “What is it, mum?” Her eyes went to Daniel.
“He’s been bit by a snake. Jim’s gone for the doctor, but you know more about these kinds of things better than anyone else here.” Willa’s eyes pleaded. “Can you help him?”
“I’ll ’ave a look-see.” Lily sat on the bed beside Daniel. She felt his face and the skin on his arm, then examined the wound.
“Was it a king brown?” Rebecca asked Woodman.
“Don’t think so, mum. If it was, he’d already be gone. More than likely it was a tiger snake.”
“Is he going to die?” Rebecca stared at Daniel. She’d never seen him so sick.
Lily continued to probe. “He’s roight bad, but he could live, eh?”
Lily cleaned the wound and, after making a poultice, placed the putrid-smelling mash on his hand and wrapped it. “Can’t do no more than that.” Her dark eyes were sad. “Try ta get ’im ta drink some water,” she said before leaving the room.
Dr. Walker strode into Daniel’s room. “Heard he’s got a snakebite?”
“Yes, doctor,” Willa said. “But Woodman doesn’t think it was a king brown. He thinks it was a tiger snake.”
“Let me ’ave a look.” The doctor leaned over Daniel and, after removing the poultice, examined the wound. He ran his hand up Daniel’s arm, lifted his eyelids, and liste
ned to his heart. “I think Woodman’s right. Tiger snakes can deliver a fierce bite and make a man real sick, but it’s not always a killer.”
His eyes sorrowful, he turned to Rebecca and Willa, who stood side by side, hands clasped. “The poultice was a good idea. Could draw out some of the poison. Keep him from getting chilled, and give him plenty to drink.” He shrugged. “Other than that, all we can do is wait.” He gazed down at Daniel. “We’ll know in the next day or so.” He glanced about the room at the observers. “Anyone with him when this happened?”
“No,” Willa said. “He was by himself. Out working somewhere on the station.”
“And he got back by himself?”
“Yes.”
“Always knew the lad had spunk.” He smiled. “Don’t give up hope. If he came this far, could be he’ll make it.”
Rebecca didn’t leave Daniel’s bedside that first day and night except for brief intervals to nurse Joseph. She wanted to be with her husband, needed to be. Her prayers never ceased.
Callie sat with her from time to time. She never said a word, but her presence was a comfort.
Daniel’s fever raged. He groaned and thrashed about. There were moments of lucidity when Rebecca would spoon water into his mouth, but those were few. Two more days passed before Daniel began to improve. Still, Rebecca remained with him, sometimes dozing in a chair.
“Rebecca dear,” Willa said, “you must get some rest. And Lily’s made a lovely beef pie. Go down and have a bite and then take a nap, eh?”
“I can’t. Not yet. Anyway, I’m not hungry.” Rebecca looked at Daniel. “I think he’s getting better. He’s not so hot, and he seems to be resting more comfortably.”
“Yes. I agree. And his color’s improved as well.” Willa turned a resolute expression on Rebecca. “And what good will you be to him if you collapse?”
Rebecca compressed her lips and studied her husband. “He’s still so sick. I’m afraid if I leave . . .”
“Nonsense. He’s going to be fine. If he was going to die, he would have done it by now. You go. I’ll stay with him.”
Rebecca bent close to Daniel and whispered, “We’ve barely started our life together . . . I can’t lose you now.” She kissed his cheek.
Daniel’s eyes fluttered open. He gazed at Rebecca for a moment and then returned to sleep.
Daniel’s first thought was one of thirst. He needed a drink. His second was a question—why was his head pounding? What had happened? He struggled to open heavy eyes. His mother sat at his bedside. “Mum?”
She looked up from her sewing. “Daniel?” She smiled. “Ah, you’ve come back to us.”
“Where’ve I been?”
“You’ve been dreadfully sick. Unconscious for days—a snakebite.”
Daniel pressed his good hand to his forehead and then combed his fingers into his hair. “Right. I remember. I’d been eating lunch . . .” He searched for the memory as if trying to gaze through fog. “How many days now?”
“You rode in five days ago.” Willa smiled. “I dare say, it’s a good thing that stallion of yours is loyal to you. He could have taken you anywhere.”
“It’s not me, it’s the feed.” Daniel smiled. “He knows he gets a handful of grain when we get back to the barn. Good thing, eh?”
He tried to push himself upright and winced. Dropping back into the pillows, he held up his hand and looked at it. It still throbbed and was swollen and red. The bruising had diminished some.
“How have you managed while I’ve been sick? Is everything all right?”
“Yes. And we’ve handled everything that came our way just fine.”
“We’ve had a run of bad luck. Can’t say why.” Daniel glanced at the curtains fluttering in the breeze. “Prayers seem to do little good. God doesn’t seem to be listening to me.”
Willa pursed her lips. Her eyes moved across the floor to the window. “I’d say we’ve much to be thankful for. You could very well have died. It’s astonishing that you made it back to the house and even more unbelievable that you lived.”
“I suppose you’re right. But it would have been better if I hadn’t been bitten at all. I’m needed ’round ’ere. If things don’t improve, Douloo may very well be ruined.”
“Daniel, we live in the world, not in paradise. Troubles abound. What matters is how we face those difficulties.”
Daniel nodded slightly, wincing at the pain in his head.
Willa reached out and covered his undamaged hand. Tears washed into her eyes. She lifted his hand and pressed it against her cheek and then resettled it at his side. “Try not to worry so much about Douloo. It’s only a piece of ground. There are things in this life of much greater worth.”
Daniel handed Rebecca up into the stagecoach. She hesitated at the door and looked down at her husband. “I wish you were going with us.”
“I wish I could, luv. But six weeks is too long for me to be gone. Especially now.”
Rebecca knew that, but she’d had to ask. “I was just hoping, that’s all.” She stepped into the coach and sat beside Willa. Resting her arm on the open window, she looked out at Daniel. “Maybe I ought to stay.”
Daniel laid a hand on her arm. “This holiday will be good for you. And Mum will feel more secure with you along.”
“She has Mildred.” Rebecca glanced at her aunt, who sat on the seat opposite her. She looked as if she’d been crying.
Daniel spoke softly. “They’re both getting on . . . they may need someone to look after them.”
Rebecca nodded. She’d looked forward to spending time with her aunt and her mother-in-law. Still, it didn’t seem right to leave Daniel behind for so long, especially during such trying times.
“I’ll write to you,” she said.
“Can’t promise I’ll write back, but I’ll try.”
Rebecca glanced at Callie sitting beside Mildred. She bounced Joseph on her knee.
Callie gave Rebecca an encouraging smile. “I think Joseph will like the trip, mum. A real adventure for a young lad, eh?”
“He won’t remember any of it.”
“Yais, well, maybe not. Never know what stays in a mind.”
Rebecca turned back to Daniel and laid a hand over his. “I’ll miss you.”
“Douloo needs me, and you need some quiet, cooler days. I’ll be thinking of you.” Daniel grinned and his cheek dimpled.
Rebecca felt the pace of her heart quicken. “I love you.”
The driver climbed into his seat atop the stagecoach.
“I love you too.” In one effortless movement, Daniel stepped up and inside the coach, lifted his son, and planted a kiss on his cheek. “Be a good lad.” He set him back on Callie’s lap and turned to Rebecca. “I’ll think of you every moment you’re gone.” He kissed her tenderly. Holding her arms a moment longer, he studied her face. “Pray, eh?”
“I’ll be praying.”
He leaned over his mother and dropped a kiss on her cheek. “I’ll miss you, Mum.”
“We’ll be back before you know it. Don’t forget to take some leisure now and again.”
“Right. I won’t forget.”
Thomas stood on the sidewalk, his eyes on Mildred. “My coach will be along day after tomorrow. I’ll be thinking of you. I’ll miss you.”
Mildred’s eyes brimmed with tears. “I’ll miss you.”
“Don’t forget me, now.”
Mildred’s chin quivered, and she dabbed at her tears.
The coach jolted forward and then moved away from the sidewalk. Amidst a roiling cloud of dust, it rocked and swayed as it rolled down the street.
“Auntie, you are going to return to Boston, aren’t you?”
“Yes.”
“And you’ll marry Thomas?”
“I don’t know. I just don’t know.” She blew her nose delicately into her handkerchief. “I’d rather not talk about it just now.”
Willa pushed back into her seat, trying to get more comfortable. Rebecca did the same. But her m
ind remained with Daniel. It would be three days’ journey overland to Toowoomba and then several days more on the train. She’d be so far from home.
Rebecca wondered what it would be like in Melbourne. She’d heard that the weather was cooler and that the countryside was lusher than the flats. And there was the ocean shore. Images of lapping waves with diving, squalling gulls eased her misgivings about going as she imagined a stroll on the beach.
The miles passed, and Mildred became more distressed. Her mind stayed with Thomas. He’d looked so unhappy when they’d pulled away from Thornton Creek. Maybe I should go with him to Boston, she thought but immediately told herself the idea was ridiculous. She’d decided to vacation with Willa and Rebecca in Melbourne, and that was that. We’ll have a splendid time. And I can’t go back; I haven’t even decided whether I ought to marry Thomas or not. Nothing has changed. He still loves his first wife. He always will.
“I do hope it’s cooler in Melbourne,” Willa said, fanning herself. “I remember the summers as being quite nice.” She smiled softly. “I met Bertram there, did I tell you?”
“Yes,” Rebecca said. “You did.”
“He was quite dashing in those days. I’ll never forget the first time we met—I was smitten almost immediately.”
Mildred was not one to pry, but she needed to know more about what Willa felt about her deceased husband. “Please forgive me if this question is too personal, but . . . how do you feel now that Bertram is gone? Do you love him like you did?”
“Yes. Perhaps more. Now I’m more aware of what an extraordinary man he was. And I’ve certainly forgotten some of the things he did that aggravated me.”
“Do you think your love will wane in time?”
“Oh no. Never.”
Mildred nodded slightly. So it is true. Once you’re deeply committed to a person and married, you’ll never be able to completely love another. Mildred felt the ache of loss. Thomas could never love her the way she needed him to.
“Willa, do you think you’ll ever remarry?” Rebecca asked.