A HAZARD OF HEARTS

by Frances Burke

  Elly saw her misgivings echoed in her companions’ uneasy faces, while the baby, clearly sensitive to the atmosphere, began to wail.

  ‘Should we not, perhaps, turn back to wait out the storm?’ the government agent suggested. A small man, a sparrow to his wife’s mother hen, he fussed attentively over his family. Now he’d reached the stage of agitation.

  If Paul was anxious, he hid it well. ‘I judge it would be as far to go back as forward to shelter, and it would mean the team straining uphill. It’s best to conserve their energy.’

  ‘Those poor men on the roof,’ Elly said. ‘Could we not squeeze up and let one or two share our shelter for a time?’ She gazed around questioningly.

  The gout-plagued passenger frowned, while the mother of the baby smiled dubiously, no doubt opposed to wet snow being brought inside.

  Again Paul answered. ‘It might not be wise to stop the coach, even if we could attract the driver’s attention. The men do have a canvas to pull over them. Not really adequate, I know, but –’ He broke off to clutch at the door beside him, his other hand outthrust to hold Elly as the coach lurched to the right, swerved again, then began to tip. It stopped, righted itself. Then, wheels locked, it started to slide.

  Outside through the swirling snow Elly heard muffled shouts.

  ‘We’ve hit ice,’ cried the government agent, grasping his wife.

  The baby wailed even louder. Its mother pressed it to her in terror, and Lucy clutched at Elly, crying ‘What is it?’

  ‘I don’t know. We seem to be slipping, without brakes.’

  ‘Hold on,’ shouted Paul. He threw himself across the two women as the coach rocked and slid, gathering momentum.

  With a terrific crunch the front wheels struck some rigid object, tipped to the left, hovered on the brink of recovery, then crashed over an incline to bump its way down-hill, tearing out rocks and brush, until finally it came to rest against a tree.

  In the ensuing silence a horse screamed, a terrible sound. Dazed, Elly tried to thrust herself up against the weight pinning her between the seat and another body. Her right elbow vibrated in agony and she’d bitten her cheek. It was Paul’s knee in her stomach. She heard him struggle with the coach door above his head, tearing away the leather curtain over the window. The weight on her stomach lifted as he scrambled out through the gap and snow leaked in to fall on her face, cold and stinging.

  Her head cleared and she remembered they’d come off the road, overturned, smashed into something.

  Was everyone all right? She felt around in the darkness. The soft body beneath her must be Lucy. Her fingers found a fur-lined hood and a cold face within.

  ‘Lucy, can you hear me?’

  ‘I ... hear. Can’t breathe ...’

  Elly moved aside, dragging Lucy into a sitting position against the upended squab. She could hear heavy breathing somewhere in the coach. The baby had fallen silent. There were no further sounds from outside. Then the door above her head was wrenched open and Paul said, ‘Reach up, Elly, and I’ll lift you out.’

  ‘Take Lucy first. I’ll give her a push up to you.’

  Lucy, who, with Elly off her chest, appeared to have recovered her breath, said, ‘The baby...’

  ‘I’ll search for it. You go ahead to make room for me to move.’ She boosted Lucy as well as she could in the confined space and the girl disappeared through the opening, her skirts flapping in Elly’s face. Only a few flakes of snow sifted in, for which Elly thanked Providence. The wind, also, had dropped. Nearby someone groaned and she groped her way to another body in male clothing, too heavy a body for her to lift. It must be the older man with the gouty leg.

  Paul leaned down again. ‘You next, Elly.’

  ‘I can’t leave the others until I know how badly they’re hurt. If only we had some light.’

  ‘I’ll see if the candles are still in the coach lanterns. Hold on.’ He disappeared again and the cold drifted down through the gap. Elly could see a faint square of lighter sky.

  ‘Help me,’ whispered a voice almost under Elly’s foot.

  She reached down to touch the woman’s bodice, feeling a racing heartbeat beneath. ‘Where’s the baby?’ Elly scrabbled about frantically until her hands closed around a soft, yielding bundle under the mother’s arm. The bundle squeaked when she picked it up. The baby was alive!

  An upheaval in the dark nearby and two voices cursing signalled the survival of the other inside passengers. Relieved, Elly took charge. In her calmest Matron’s manner she lined up her patients, examining them as best she could by touch. No-one appeared to be badly hurt, although her hands were sticky with blood welling from a head wound above a bearded face, the older man with gout. Elly was glad to hear Paul climb up the side of the coach. His body filled the opening and his face glowed eerily above her in the light of two candles fixed to a piece of board, which he handed down.

  ‘Will this help?’ He also passed down her small bag with the travelling medical kit.

  ‘Oh, yes. There’s just a superficial head wound here, plus shock, of course. What about the others?’

  He waited before answering, then said steadily, ‘The driver jumped into a snowdrift. He’s unhurt. Two of the roof passengers are dead, thrown into the trees to break their necks. The others have various cuts and bruises. I’m very much afraid there’s a broken leg, a bad multiple break. Will you come and see?’

  Despite the circumstances, Elly was galvanised by the contact with Paul as he helped her to climb through the gap then lifted her down. For an instant, clutched in his arms, she melted against him, her face pressed to his chest, inhaling the familiar mixture of wool, pipe tobacco and man that was Paul’s own odour. It was like a homecoming. Then she was on her feet and the needs of the moment came flooding back to claim her.

  ~*~

  A half-hour later Elly had set the broken leg, with the help of a wide-eyed Lucy who trembled as she held the candles, and settled the shocked mother to feed her baby in the shelter of a canvas torn from the coach roof. The able-bodied men had put the coach back on its wheels so that the more badly injured roof passengers could be placed inside. It seemed to have suffered no structural damage, despite gouged paintwork and baggage strewn widely through the trees.

  To Paul had fallen the sad duty of despatching the badly injured pole horses which had been dragged down the slope with the coach. Their driver, pulled from his snowdrift, proved to be hopelessly drunk, and unfit to use the shotgun carried under his seat. Elly flinched as the reports echoed through the trees, then went calmly on with her work, while Paul and the government agent set off to find the two leaders, who had broken their traces and escaped the accident.

  When Elly finally repacked her medical bag and washed her hands in some snow, Lucy put down the candles to hug her.

  ‘Miss Ballard, you’re so brave and strong. I wish I could be like you.’

  Elly smiled tiredly and squeezed her back again. ‘It’s all in knowing what to do. I’m used to emergencies, Lucy. You’ve kept your head well. I’m proud of you. Do you think, as we’re already intimate, you could call me “Elly”?’

  Lucy beamed.

  Out of the darkness came a tall figure leading two horses in dangling harness. ‘Your father would be proud of you, also, Lucy,’ Paul said. ‘Would you now hold the candles for me, while I cobble together these bits of leather and, with any luck, we’ll get these nags to drag the coach back up to the road. It’s not far.’ He glanced at Elly. ‘I saw cheeses loaded aboard for the market. If you can find one we’d all welcome some sustenance – Oh, Lord! That’s all we need.’

  ‘Where’s me whip? Got to keep up with the timesheet. All aboard now.’ The driver staggered towards the coach, tried to climb up to box seat, then fell back heavily into the churned mud and snow, swearing.

  Handing Elly the harness, Paul bent to grasp the man under the arms. ‘Shut your mouth. You’re not driving anywhere.’

  ‘Me legs’ve gone,’ the driver muttered in a sur
prised tone as he collapsed against Paul.

  Paul shook him. ‘And so have your wits. God! What an idiot. I suppose I’ll have to tie you on. There’s no room inside.’

  ‘No-one but me drives my rig,’ the man blustered, swinging an ineffectual fist at Paul’s head.

  ‘Wrong, friend. You just watch me. Come on, up we go.’ With help from two men, the driver was hoisted to a roof seat and tied there to keep him from toppling off.

  All available hands pushed and dragged the coach away from the dead horses, in deference to the sensibilities of the live ones. Then a large cheese was found and broached, along with Paul’s hip flask of brandy. When the harness had been mended to his liking and the remaining horses poled up, he addressed his companions.

  ‘The snow has stopped and we should make it down from the mountains safely if we’re careful, even in the dark. With only two horses and injured people aboard, the pace won’t go much above a snail’s. Still, it’s the best we can do. So, all aboard, ladies, as they say. You men who can walk will have to push us up the slope as far as the road, but once there you can climb up top. Does anyone have any better ideas to offer?’

  There was a murmur of general consent. Elly, preparing to mount into the coach with her mind on her patients, spared a glance for the man who had taken such complete charge. He seemed rocklike, indomitable.

  Lucy stared at him, rapt in admiration. ‘Isn’t he marvellous?’ she whispered. ‘I think he could take care of anything.’

  Elly smiled in complete agreement.

  Their resumed journey down to the plains, while slow, remained uneventful. From the way station a team of fresh horses carried them on to Parramatta where the injured travellers could receive medical attention. Elly would have pressed on to town, if she could. The old superstitious fear that some great difficulty would arise at her hospital if she were not there to somehow forestall it, had risen in her mind. She also knew she should leave Paul’s company as soon as possible.

  However, he pleaded exhaustion, making a determined effort to appear wrecked by the cold journey in the dark down through those ugly bends, physically controlling horses and coach brake, responsible for so many lives.

  Undeceived by Lucy’s insistence that she needed to recover, too, Elly yielded to persuasion, and they spent one more night at an inn. The loss of their baggage was a minor inconvenience and Elly, in her shift, slept dreamlessly alongside Lucy for ten hours. The following day the three boarded the river steamer with Lucy in high fettle and anxious to regale the other passengers with her adventure.

  Elly stood alone at the rail watching the farms and orchards slide by when Paul joined her. She avoided looking at him, saying brightly, ‘Our journey is almost over. Despite all the drama, I’ve enjoyed it.’

  ‘So have I. Oh, not the accident or its aftermath, but being with you. Your friendship means a great deal to me, Elly.’

  Her smile slipped. ‘My friendship?’

  ‘Yes. I don’t deny it’s been a struggle to overcome my deeper feelings for you. That day at Botany Bay you wrenched the heart out of me, and it’s never been the same since. Yet you were right to say our loving each other would be a mistake. There are so many reasons why we should agree to remain just good friends. I’ve finally come to terms with this and I’m happy again. I wanted you to know.’

  ‘I ... see.’ Elly turned away, unable to control her expression. However, her voice remained steady. ‘Of course, you have made the right decision, and friends we shall be, always.’

  He patted her arm. ‘Wonderful. Now, I must find Lucy. That young lady is ever ready to slip away at the first chance.’

  Elly watched the gliding landscape unseeingly, the pain in her breast sharp enough to make her bend and clutch the rail while drawing in shallow breaths, guarding herself against further hurt. How could she continue to be in Paul’s company, knowing that he no longer loved her? Even his attention to the sensual young Lucy upset her, innocent as it was. Scourging herself inwardly for letting her grand future plans be weighed against an impractical dream, she made a vow that, back at the hospital, away from Paul’s distracting presence, she would regain her balance. This time she would make it happen. Her path had been chosen and she would not deviate again.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE

  ‘Chinaman’s Gully’s down there quite a ways,’ said the digger, pointing a dirty callused finger southwards. ‘It’s on the other side of the range. One of the fields opened up late last year. Just about cleaned out by now, I reckon.’ A slit in his grizzled beard revealed a grinning, toothless mouth. ‘‘Cept, a’course, for the Chinks, who’ll find pickings in a kiddy’s sand box. You hoping to try your luck, youngster?’

  Pearl shook her head. ‘I’m hoping to find my brother down there, Mr Coffey.’ They had met up earlier in the morning as the digger ambled down from the north-west hills to discover that both were headed in the same direction. She was pleased to have company on the tramp.

  ‘Call me Ezra. And this here’s Polly Doodle.’ He flapped the reins on the mule trotting beside him, loaded with tools and camp equipment, ropes and canvas flapping in the wind. ‘We’re from the States, both us two. We’ve covered a lot of ground, and ocean, together.’

  ‘And have you found much gold yet, Ezra?’

  He winked. ‘Some’.

  Pearl continued to make polite conversation as she trudged along the muddy track beside her guide, although her mind ranged ahead to the encounter with Li Po. Lately she had been unsettled, forced to look beyond the reunion to an uncertain future. Had she envisaged herself digging alongside her brother, cooking for him, becoming a sort of camp slave? Why hadn’t she considered this before? Had she thought Li Po would be emancipated enough to let her lead her own life? Chinese women simply didn’t do so. But she could never go back to the old ways, not after being her own mistress for so long.

  She sighed, straightening her back, and Ezra Coffey suddenly brightened. ‘Hey, you’re a woman. I’ve not seen a female other than Polly Doodle for nigh on a year.’ He licked his lower lip. ‘Your slanty eyes are purty. I always thought a woman’s eyes were her best point. Fact is, your whole face is purty, even with the scar.’ He then sighed and said, disappointedly, ‘But you cut your hair.’

  Pearl stopped and studied him for a moment, appreciating the fact that he had not blatantly tried to see beneath her clothing. She removed her cap, letting her braid fall down over her shoulder, saying, ‘Would you like me to loosen it? It’s all I will do. I’m not available as a whore, if you have that in mind.’

  Ezra blinked and a dreamy expression came over the part of his face she could see. ‘Could I just touch it? My wife, God rest her soul, had hair just like yours.’

  Pearl unbound her hair, letting it ripple down her back where the wind caught it and whirled it in a dark cloud. She stepped forward, offering it to the old man’s touch.

  ‘It’s silk,’ he whispered. ‘You could weave it on a loom, just like Maddy’s hair.’ He captured a flying handful and ran his gnarled fingers through it, then dropped it, saying briskly. ‘You’d better do it up again, gal. There’s others ‘round here wouldn’t treat you with respect if they saw you.’

  He watched as, with some difficulty she redid the plait and pinned it up under her cap

  When they resumed their plodding progress he explained how he had been up in the hills alone, prospecting without much result. Now he intended to try one of the surface drifts opening up continually around Ballarat, more particularly along the White Horse Range.

  ‘A lot of new leads’ve been found, but at the same time the surface deposits and the old river gravels are worked out. It’s easy enough to find gold under a thin layer of clay or sand but, you mark my words, there’ll be deep reefs under the rock.’

  Pearl said, ‘I’ve seen the shafts at Ophir where the gold had sunk down into the clay. The men brought it up in buckets and washed it on the surface, but I haven’t seen them try to dig through rock.’

&nb
sp; ‘They can’t. Not ‘till they’ve got machines to do the work up top. But the crushers’ll come soon enough, when the reefs are found. I seen it all in California.’ He broke off a piece of tobacco from his pocket, popped it in his mouth and, despite his lack of teeth, began to chew. ‘You tired, gal? Want a ride on my Polly Doodle?’

  In pity for the overloaded mule Pearl declined, shifting her pack to a more comfortable position. The thieves had fortunately taken fright when she knifed Redbeard and they had left her pack beside the track, where it was picked up by her rescuers and taken, along with her battered body, to the Chinese Doctor’s tent.

  Her kit, supplemented with the herbal remedies she had been studying, weighed like a rock, while the mud under foot sent her sliding in all directions. Fortunately, the rain had ceased for the moment, although the sky loured and a sharp wind cut through her wet clothes. Her surroundings were depressing, a desolate landscape in sepia and black, barren and heaped with ten-foot high clay hillocks. Everywhere water lay in pools. The men throwing up clay to add to the mullock heaps worked hip deep in a slurry of wet mud – hundreds of men, with hundreds more working cradles, windlasses and wee-gees, the long poles balanced by a stone at one end and a bucket at the other, used to pump out water.

  It was an ant-heap, and to an outsider it would appear mindless, perpetual motion without visible purpose – unless one saw the gold peeping through the slush and heard the cry of delight from a man who had worn himself down to a rheumaticky bundle of bones in search of it.

  When they reached the Chinese encampment it looked no better and no worse than the tent towns of the western men, although there were some queer structures made of packing cases and kerosene tins held together with saplings. The ground here sloped sharply into gullies as barren as the rest of the camp.