Heart of the Country

by Tricia Stringer

  Thomas had no idea what to do but he felt he owed Gulda something. He turned to Edmund. “Did you get your sheep back?”

  “Of course.” Edmund puffed out his chest. “We set it up so we had him surrounded. He didn’t get a chance to escape. We released the animal before this native could kill it.”

  “So he has nothing of yours in his possession?”

  “Well, not now.” Edmund spat at Gulda’s feet again. “But he would have if we hadn’t caught him.”

  “Enough!” George’s voice had lost its patient tone. “Get out of the way, Baker.”

  Quick as a flash Edmund had him in a grip and started dragging him away. Months of physical work had built up Thomas’s strength and Edmund could not shift him far until Jacob joined his brother. Thomas was no match for two of them.

  “Let it be,” Jacob said softly in his ear.

  Thomas stopped struggling as soon as George applied the first lash to Gulda’s back. The poor man cried out but Thomas knew there was nothing further he could do. He only hoped his presence might prevent them from going too far and overdoing the punishment.

  It was over very quickly. George hit Gulda ten times. Thomas could see welts forming where the lash had struck but there was no blood.

  George leaned in close to Gulda’s face. “No sheep from my place.” He yelled the words slowly. “Don’t take my sheep or I will hit you much more.” He stood back. “You understand? No sheep.”

  Gulda stared at something on the ground at George’s feet. He’d stopped making any sound.

  Samuel shook his shoulder. “You understand? Tell Mr Smith.”

  Thomas could feel both Jacob’s and Edmund’s grips had eased. He took the opportunity to wrench himself free. He needed to come up with an idea to get Gulda away. George had seemed a reasonable man but the situation was volatile.

  “His English isn’t good,” Thomas said. “You are only making him more frightened by yelling at him.”

  “I think we should tie him to the tree,” Edmund said. “Make sure he’s learned his lesson.”

  “Let him go,” Thomas said.

  Edmund’s face darkened and his hand curled into a fist.

  Thomas turned back to George. “Let me take him with me. Gulda’s worked for me before. I owe him. I’ll make him understand he can’t just take a sheep.”

  Edmund snorted.

  George turned a pitying look on Thomas. “You won’t be able to teach him anything he doesn’t want to know.” He pointed at Gulda, who had been looking up but quickly cast his eyes down. “And he understands plenty English, don’t you?”

  Thomas tried another tack. “I need help and AJ –”

  “Wouldn’t want you wasting time and resources on a black man,” George cut in.

  Thomas met George’s look. “AJ has given me the authority to do it my way.” He felt indebted to the native. He didn’t want to make enemies of his neighbours but he needed to end this violence.

  “How will you get him to your place? Drag him behind your horse?” Edmund smirked at him. “Judging by the marks on his wrists, someone has already tried that method.”

  Thomas hesitated, anger burning in his chest. Edmund might be the delightful Lizzie’s brother but there was none of her compassion or laughter in him.

  “We could lend him a horse, couldn’t we, Father?” Jacob said. “When we go to help yard the stock, we can bring it back.”

  “I’m not helping people who are native lovers.” Edmund spat into the dirt.

  Thomas clenched his hand into a fist.

  “Let Thomas take the man on a horse, Father.”

  They all turned as Lizzie stepped forward. She held a bowl in her hands.

  “You shouldn’t be here, Lizzie girl,” George growled but there was no real anger in his voice.

  “We don’t need to make this man suffer any more than necessary.”

  “Take your fussing away, Lizzie,” Edmund snarled. “You’re wasting your time on this black man.”

  “Mother sent me to tend to him.” Lizzie was a lot shorter than her oldest brother but she held his glare.

  George shook his head. “Jacob, saddle old Tucker. Baker can take the native with him. We’ll get the horse back later.” He shook his head again as Lizzie examined Gulda’s back. “I haven’t harmed him, Lizzie,” he said softly, then turned to Thomas. “We’re neighbours so you know you can always count on us for help but I can’t make my boys work for you. It’ll be up to them who comes,” he said. He turned and walked back to the hut.

  Isaac stayed with Gulda but Samuel and Edmund followed their father. Lizzie stepped back. “Father hasn’t hurt him too much. Only his dignity,” she said.

  Isaac released the native’s arm and Gulda looked ready to run.

  Thomas held up a hand. “Stay, Gulda,” he said. “I will take you to my hut.” It saddened him to see fear in the black face that had once looked at him with amity. “Can you ride?” He pointed as Jacob led a horse towards them.

  Gulda’s eyes widened but he remained still, watching as the horse was brought to him.

  “This is Tucker,” Jacob said. “He’s an old plodder. Won’t get up more than a trot and won’t stray far.” He smiled at Thomas. “He’ll always come to you for tucker.”

  “Get on the horse, Gulda,” Thomas said, but when the native still didn’t move, Thomas, with the assistance of Jacob, hoisted him onto the horse and demonstrated how to hold the reins.

  Isaac brought Thomas’s horse and held Tucker’s reins while he mounted, then passed them across.

  “Zac and I will come over tomorrow,” Jacob said. “We’re happy to help round up your sheep, aren’t we, Zac?”

  Isaac nodded.

  “Thanks,” Thomas said, “but I wouldn’t want to cause more trouble.”

  “All will be well,” Jacob said in a voice sounding much older than he looked.

  Thomas gave them a grateful smile. Beyond them Lizzie was still standing with her bowl but there were no other Smiths to be seen in the yard or on the verandah. This was not at all how he had thought his first visit to his nearest neighbours would go. He wondered what she thought of him now.

  “Goodbye, Lizzie,” he said and raised a hand in farewell.

  Her face lit in a smile. “Goodbye, Thomas, and good luck,” she said.

  At least Lizzie didn’t seem to have turned against him like the other half of her family. His spirits lifted a little as he turned his horse, and Tucker carrying Gulda, and began the journey home.

  Twenty-one

  Septimus slapped his leg in frustration. The casing was off now but the leg was weak and he thought it looked crooked. He was afraid to put his full weight on it after hobbling for so long. “That blasted doctor was no more than a charlatan.”

  Harriet put down her sewing and looked across the small clearing in the bush they had turned into a camp. “Can I do something for you?” she said.

  Her patient tone only served to irritate Septimus further. He’d been confined to the wagon and then to this camp for nearly two months, reliant on a slip of a woman to help him with everything. While he had felt he was shrinking away, Harriet had blossomed, even though she was doing the work of a man.

  “Not unless you can mend this leg,” he snapped.

  “The casing only came off this morning. It’s bound to feel strange, but it won’t be long and you’ll be able to do everything you could before.”

  Her smile was sweet, but it couldn’t shift the scowl he knew was set on his face. What a conundrum Harriet was. Where she sat now, the warm afternoon sun slanted through the trees and underneath the canopy they’d erected, shining on her dark hair and making it gleam. She wore the same dress she’d been wearing when he’d found her in his wagon but she filled it out even more than before. She’d grown taller and looked a picture of womanhood and good health, despite their limited diet and rough conditions.

  He’d been a tough patient, complaining in spite of all her attentions. For quite a
while she’d had to drive the wagon, set up camp each night, feed and care for Clover and find them food. Harriet had been useful to him but he was anxious to get back on the road. Being tethered to the camp and Harriet made him edgy.

  “Let me make you some tea.” She rose from the log that she’d made into a semi-comfortable seat with some bags for padding.

  “I don’t want tea,” he growled.

  “Very well, Septimus, but I won’t offer again until after our evening meal.”

  “Possum again.” He spat the words even though he knew Harriet was a marvel at turning whatever animal they trapped into something delicious.

  “If you don’t like it you can always get your own.”

  Even now, when he’d goaded her yet again, her tone was neutral. She sat back on her seat and bent her head over the shirt she was mending.

  When they’d first set out from Burra he’d been barely able to drag himself from the wagon. He’d taught her what to look for when choosing a site for the trap and how to set it. Harriet was a fast learner and they’d always had something to eat on the journey. Before Harriet, he’d been happy living on dried meat and damper and the odd stew from whatever animal he trapped or shot, but her cooking always made things taste better. He’d become accustomed to it.

  Now they were camped close to Adelaide it was a little easier. He’d given her some money and sent her to get supplies. They’d been out of flour and sugar. She’d been nervous to go back but he convinced her she wouldn’t be recognised and besides, no one would be looking for her. After all this time with no body found she must be presumed dead or a runaway.

  They’d been camped a little way from the nearest road. There was plenty of protection from the late spring sunshine and a source of water nearby. He’d planned to stay there until his leg was healed and the casing was off. He didn’t want to appear in Adelaide with any impediment. While he was convinced no one would be looking for Harriet, the same might not be the case with him. Septimus wanted to go into town discreetly. He needed to find out if there were to be any repercussions over Baker and the horse before the task of setting up his wagon properly as a hawker’s business could begin.

  He stood up, ducked under the canopy and wobbled over to where the fire had just enough coals to keep the billy warm. He had grown so accustomed to the casing on his leg that he felt lopsided without it. The leg that had been broken was weak. Each step he took was tentative in case it gave out underneath him.

  He hobbled away from the fire and then from tree to tree around the edge of their small clearing. When he glanced at Harriet she had her head over her sewing, but he’d felt her eyes watching him. His confidence in the leg grew. He kept walking until it began to ache. The sun was still a way from going down. Harriet had wrapped the possum meat in layers of bark and buried it in the coals, so it would still be some time before they ate. Septimus looked around for something he could do. He’d kept himself busy during his convalescence, whittling creatures from wood, but now he wasn’t in the mood for that.

  Then he thought of the trunk in the back of the wagon. His was smaller and Harriet could shift it by herself, but Baker’s was big and heavy. Septimus wondered how she had managed to get it into the wagon by herself after his accident but he’d never asked her. It was still in the wagon. Now was the time to get it out and go through the contents again. The remaining items would bring better money in Adelaide. He would just have to be cautious in case Baker was still around.

  “Come and help me, Harriet,” he said as he made his way past her to the back of the wagon. “I want to get the trunk out.”

  She followed him without a word. He lowered the gate and reached in. “Take one side.”

  “It’s too heavy for me, Septimus, and you’re not back to your full strength yet. Your leg will buckle.”

  He tugged at the trunk. It budged a little but he knew she was right. He wouldn’t be able to lift it down even with her help. He slapped the side with his hand.

  “Is there something you need from the trunk? I can get it out for you.”

  “No.” He thumped the trunk again. He hated being weak and he hated relying on Harriet. “I want to go through it myself. There are things to get ready for sale.”

  “I could help you climb into the wagon. You could go through it there.”

  He glared at her. “I want the trunk out.” When he went to Adelaide with the wagon he didn’t want the trunk with him, only the contents he was planning to sell.

  Harriet looked at the trunk, her hands on her hips. “I could unpack some of it so it’s not so heavy, then perhaps we could slide it out in a similar fashion to the way I got it in.”

  He stayed by the wagon as she picked up the axe and disappeared into the surrounding bush. There was the sound of distant chopping followed by rustling. Finally she emerged dragging two sturdy branches. She strapped the branches to the back of the wagon, adjusting them so that the stumps from the smaller foliage she’d trimmed stayed pointing up.

  “It will be easier with both of us and this time we’ll be getting it out not in.”

  Septimus looked from the branches to the trunk still not sure what she intended. She climbed into the wagon. He watched her lift out clothes, books, pots and a wooden tray, then she closed the lid and turned back to him.

  “Help me tug the trunk to the edge of the wagon. Then the branches will help us take the weight. The smaller branches will stop it from getting away from us too fast.”

  Septimus reached for the handle on one side of the trunk as Harriet did the same on the other. He could see how the branches were going to become a slide but he still didn’t understand how she could have used this method to get the heavy trunk into the wagon.

  Once the weight was over the lip it took all his effort to hold the trunk steady so it didn’t slide away of its own accord. He could see Harriet’s end was in danger of going then it hit the small branch sticking out on her side and stopped. Together they paused then on her command they lifted and slid the trunk down the next length until the trunk stopped at the second barrier. Once more they lifted and slid until the trunk landed with a thud on the ground.

  They both collapsed on top of it, gaining their breath. They sat shoulder to shoulder. He was aware she was puffing softly like he was.

  “You know, it was the devil of a job getting that trunk into the wagon by myself.” Harriet gave a small chuckle. Septimus looked down at her breasts bulging from the top of the dress that was really too small for her now.

  Suddenly he was filled with desire. He hadn’t been with a woman since the night in the stable when he’d discovered Harriet’s age. He hated the idea that another man had used her but his lust for her overwhelmed him.

  He stood up and pulled her to him. He noted her small look of surprise before he pressed her face to his chest and used his free hand to lift her dress. It was awkward with his weak leg threatening to go out from under him but his manhood was bulging against his pants. Somehow he was going to have Harriet whether she wanted him or not.

  He paused as he felt her hands at his belt. She managed to manoeuvre him towards the little bed she’d made for herself on the edge of their camp. They crumpled to the ground and he was on top of her, letting out the pent-up frustrations and desires he’d kept at bay for months. She yielded beneath him; the same pure sweet Harriet that he remembered.

  Very quickly he was spent. He rolled away, his eyes closed, savouring the release. Today was the most exercise he’d had in a while but he realised Harriet had been right. He would build up his strength again and he had easily proved there was nothing wrong with his manhood. All would be well.

  He heard soft rustlings as Harriet moved away beyond the wagon. He closed his eyes but before long she was back beside him. She hadn’t said a word while he’d driven into her in his hunger. Now his eyes flew open at the feel of her lips nibbling his ear. She was naked. Her breasts were round and supple, her flesh pink from their activity. The rustling he’d heard mus
t have been Harriet removing the rest of her clothes. Then he took in the bump in her nose and scar on her cheek. They reminded him that someone else had used her. He pushed her away, sickened that his body had overridden his pact to only bed a pure woman, unsullied by other men.

  “What is it, Septimus?”

  “Your … injuries.”

  “I am fully recovered.”

  “Another man …” He turned his head, unable to look at her, angry with himself.

  “There has been no one but you.”

  He looked back at her big round eyes, her sweet lips.

  “The beating … Someone violated you.”

  Her eyes widened and she put a hand to her scar. “It was a beating, that was all. I escaped before anything else happened. I am … as you left me. Yours and yours alone.”

  Before he could speak she was on top of him, her mouth covering his and her firm body pressing against him. He felt his desire for her return. He reached for her but her mouth was at his ear again.

  “Let’s take it slowly this time,” she whispered. “You’re still convalescing. Let me do the work for you.”

  Septimus opened his mouth to protest but instead let out a groan as her lips and fingers moved down his body.

  It was much later when they finally got around to unpacking the remaining items from the trunk. They had dragged it close to the log and Harriet had been like a child, marvelling at the items he pulled from the depths. She had been especially taken with the china tea set, which he’d told her had been his mother’s. After all the rough treatment it was a miracle nothing was broken; it had been well wrapped in several pieces of linen. Harriet had said the tea set reminded her of her own mother’s kitchen. Her pretty face had looked a little melancholy and in a moment of weakness he’d allowed her to use it. It would still fetch a good price later on.