Matilda's Freedom

by Téa Cooper

  Regardless of the diabolical reception he’d received, when he returned to the front of the inn, the fire was warm and there was a plate of bread, cheese and cold meat waiting on the table. He picked at the bread and discovered that he was hungry after all.

  With some food in his belly, he began to feel a little more human and accepted the mug of brandy the serving woman deposited on the table. She gave him a look, daring him to refuse.

  ‘Settle up tonight and you can be on your way at first light.’

  Throwing three shillings across the table, he ignored the complaints of the dingo and stretched his legs out in front of the fire. He watched the rain as it dribbled down the dirty, makeshift windows.

  The shabby interior of the slab hut brought home to him just how privileged a life he’d led. With a sudden clarity, he wondered if this was the kind of home Matilda had grown up in. Had she lived in a hut with no light to speak of, with only a smoky fire for warmth and meagre, greasy food to sustain her? How could anyone be as full of laughter and light as she was and have lived like this? The thought of her going back to such a life made his blood run cold. If only he had paid more attention to the snippets of information he been told about her past and had spent less time dreaming of her naked in his arms, writhing at his touch.

  The raw spirits burned the back of Kit’s throat as he drank. It’s a strange old world, he thought, closing his eyes. Old world. What had she said? A hidebound colonial society. Perhaps she was right. Marrying for position and connection was common in England but did such customs really belong in this new country? People from all walks of life had started afresh here, for a myriad of reasons. Sure, some of them had come in chains, like Matilda’s father, but they’d paid their dues and moved on to forge a new life.

  Now there was a constant influx of those searching for something more. Edward Hargreaves’s discovery of gold had opened up the floodgates; ships from San Francisco arrived almost monthly, disgorging fortune hunters who hoped to strike it rich. The country could not continue to be raked by such social divisions.

  Why couldn’t Matilda live the life he lived? How important was it that he married into Sydney society? His life was in Wollombi—that was where he wanted to be. He wanted to make his own way, not follow in the footsteps of his stepfather or commit to a woman who might or might not aid him in his political career. Did he even want to become a politician? In all honesty, he could think of nothing better than spending the rest of his days at The Gate, growing his vines and watching his children grow. They would have hair the colour of sunshine and noses that were sprinkled with golden freckles.

  A door banged in the distance, and Kit lurched upright, startled. No, he wouldn’t do it. He didn’t want a life with Eliza. Looking around the darkened room, the realisation dawned upon him. What he wanted was Matilda. Not as a mistress, but by his side—always. They would make a life together, and he would be the man she believed him to be.

  With Matilda, life was clearer and less complicated. The sun shone and the water in the brook was fresher, the grass greener and the potential endless. Together, they could do anything and everything.

  He had never thought of himself as a fearful man, so why be fearful now? Matilda had been so brave, in the face of so much adversity. He was a grown man—it was time to act like one.

  Kit couldn’t imagine a life without her by his side. He loved her.

  How had that happened?

  ‘Matilda, come and sit down here near the fire.’ Beth shuffled along the dry sand of the cave floor and made a space for her. Holding her hands out to the warmth of the fire, Matilda looked around.

  The interior of the cave stretched back into solid darkness, but the front was wide open as though some giant hand had scooped out the indentation and had deposited the four of them safe and dry above the rising waters. In the twilight she, could see across the valley to Broken Back Ridge. Miraculously, the smoke from the fire rose and swirled and then drifted lazily out into the greyness beyond, but the air inside the cave was dry and clean.

  ‘How did you find your way here?’ Matilda asked.

  Hannah grinned sheepishly and then looked across at Jem. ‘Can I tell her, Jem?’

  He nodded and moved back into the cave, away from the fire.

  ‘This is Tiddalik’s cave.’

  ‘I’m sorry. It’s what?’

  ‘It’s Tiddalik’s cave.’

  ‘Who is Tiddalik?’

  ‘A frog,’ Beth piped up, shifting around on the floor with excitement. She’d tried her best to not interrupt her elder sister but couldn’t help herself.

  ‘Papa and Jem used to bring Beth and me up here when we were little, but we were never allowed to tell Mama because she would have worried.’ Hannah pushed herself up from the ground, and then reached into her pocket and brought out a candle. She handed it to Jem.

  ‘Jem will tell you about Tiddalik, but first you have to look further into the cave.’ She held her hand out to Matilda as she stood up.

  Jem cupped his hand around the candle, holding a glowing ember from the fire to the wick. In the flickering light, Matilda watched as their shadows elongated and danced on the walls of the cave. Beth came and stood next to her. She raised her hands above her head and wriggled her fingers. Hannah did the same.

  ‘Now you, Matilda. You do it, too.’

  ‘We have to dance, just like the witches in Macbeth.’

  The girls waved their hands and swayed their bodies in the flickering half-light, and Matilda reluctantly joined them. Jem stepped closer, and she thought for a moment he too would join the foolish game, but instead he moved to the back wall of the cave and held the candle high above his head.

  Matilda gasped in awe as the shadows multiplied, and their hands blended into a seething mass of ochre handprints on the cave wall. A cool sweat broke out on her forehead and slivers of fear trickled down her spine as she stepped closer to the wall.

  ‘Don’t be frightened, Miss.’ Jem’s low, comforting voice filled the cave. ‘It’s just my family. Fellows from Wollombi a long time ago sheltered here and left their mark.’

  As her eyes grew accustomed to the fluttering light, her heartbeat slowed, and the handprints came into focus. Hundreds, literally hundreds of them—all different shapes and sizes—covered the back wall of the cave.

  Matilda raised her hand again, stretching it out and placing it gently against one of the prints. The warm rock seemed almost alive. It was as if she was reaching out and touching the past, connecting with the person who had left their mark. A sense of peace and calm wrapped around her as she stood there, hand against the wall, unwilling to break the frail connection.

  ‘Come and sit back down now,’ Jem said quietly, moving away and throwing the back of the cave once more into darkness.

  Returning to the fire, Hannah and Beth sat with their legs drawn up to their chins, watching the flames. Matilda sank down beside them. ‘The hands are beautiful, Jem. Thank you for showing me.’

  ‘Just have to pay your respect to past and present, Miss. Just pay your respects.’ With that, he doused the candle and sank silently down on the opposite side of the fire.

  Matilda gazed at the little group around the fire. The girls sat, relaxed and at ease, and looked comfortable in the security of the cave. They’d obviously been here many times before.

  ‘What made you come up here?’ she asked. ‘I thought you’d followed me to Bonnie’s place.’

  ‘We did, but you’d already left when we got there. We turned around to go home, but when we got to the bridge, we couldn’t cross the creek. We could see the water rising, so gave up and followed the path up here.’

  Matilda gazed at Hannah in amazement, rapidly trying to equate her calm acceptance of the facts with that of the girl from the dining room at The Gate, who supposedly had all the makings of a perfect Sydney socialite. She stifled a laugh, wondering what Mrs Barclay would say if she were here now.

  ‘What about the snakes and spid
ers, Hannah? I bet there are a few in the bush around here. I thought they frightened you.’

  ‘I don’t like them much, but the rain is worse. We knew Jem would know where to find us.’

  Jem nodded across the fire at Matilda, obviously at ease in his role as protector. There was undoubtedly more to the story than she realised—more to the Misses Barclay. They switched very quickly and easily from one persona to the other, and that confused her. A little like their brother.

  Poised to delve deeper, Matilda’s thoughts were soon interrupted by Beth.

  ‘Jem, tell Matilda about Tiddalik and then she’ll know why we’ve got a flood. It’s all Tiddalik’s fault, you know.’

  Matilda settled back to listen as Jem’s deep, dark voice filled the cave. ‘Tiddalik was a giant frog who lived in the Wollombi Valley back in the Dreaming. One day, he woke up and he was very, very thirsty.’ Jem’s eyes bulged as he licked his lips and clutched his parched throat.

  Beth giggled and copied him.

  ‘He was so thirsty he began to drink from the brook, but instead of drinking only what he needed, he continued to gulp the water, not caring about anybody else. In the end, he took so much his tummy nearly burst.’ Cheeks protruding and eyes wide, Jem rolled from side-to-side. ‘He was so full he could hardly move away from the empty creek. All the other animals got really worried. With no water, they’d die. They knew they had to get Tiddalik to give some of the water back up. They got together and made a plan—if they could make Tiddalik laugh, he would bring all the water back up and everyone could share. In the end, the eel made him laugh, and all the animals could survive and enjoy life.’

  Matilda glanced at the girls, waiting for their appreciation of the happy-ever-after ending. Jem, however, had more to tell. He lifted his index finger to the roof of the cave and raised his bushy eyebrows. ‘Tiddalik, though, he was punished for his greed. He turned into stone and sits just up there,’ he inclined his head to the roof of the cave, ‘punished for being greedy and not thinking about others.’

  ‘And so we call this Tiddalik’s cave,’ said Beth, breaking the ominous silence. ‘It’s not really, because he wouldn’t fit in here. Would he, Jem?’

  ‘You’re right, Beth. He wouldn’t fit; he’s way too big. But it’s a safe place to be when the water comes.’

  Jem stretched and stood up. His hand rested for a moment on Matilda’s head as he passed, making her wonder briefly who the story had been for.

  As she stared quietly into the flames, Matilda could see the flickering hands in her mind. She imagined the giant frog spewing water across the valley and being turned to stone, all because he was greedy and neglected others.

  How greedy had she been? Was it greedy to want Kit when she knew he was promised to another? She had thrown herself at him, giving no thought to the repercussions for Beth and Hannah, for the property, for Jem and Jimmy, and for the people whose lives revolved around the security of The Gate. But was it so wrong to want the man she loved? She touched her mother’s love token as it hung down around her neck; the warmth of the old copper and the stippled text gave her the sense of comfort she so badly needed.

  Too difficult. Just too difficult.

  She knew without a shadow of a doubt that her impetuous and foolish decision would make others suffer. She couldn’t wait two weeks—she had to leave as soon as the girls were safely home.

  Then Jem reappeared with an armful of blankets. Beth and Hannah wrapped themselves with a well-practised twist and curled up on the floor of the cave in front of the fire. They had obvious done this many time before. Their calm acceptance of such humble lodgings made her wonder about Barclay and his relationship with his daughters.

  It was easy to understand Kit’s commitment to his stepfather and his family, but to Mrs Barclay? That was something Matilda couldn’t imagine.

  Chapter Nineteen

  Kit rolled over on the lumpy mattress and scratched the mass of red bumps on his arms, unsure why he had bothered to pay for the night’s accommodation. The itchy bites proved his point.

  Flea bites!

  He would have been better off sheltering under a tree or in a cave somewhere. He ran his tongue around his teeth and grimaced. The stale taste of the rough brandy from last night remained. He was disgusted with himself, and it was time he did something about it.

  If everything had gone according to plan, he should now be in Morpeth boarding the ferry to Sydney, but he wasn’t and he had no intention of going. He was going to go home to Matilda, tell her he had made a mistake and ask her to marry him.

  He would rather die a pauper than be involved in that irrevocable marriage of convenience. Yet, one question remained—would Matilda have him, especially after making that ridiculous proposition and shaming her? He sincerely hoped that was not the case. He wanted nothing more than to hold her in his arms for the rest of his life and die a happy man.

  Cramming his damp hat back on his head, he pulled his cape over his shoulders and made his way out to the back of the inn. The sooner he was back in the saddle, the sooner he would be home with Matilda.

  The overcast sky hung low and threatening, but at least the rain had stopped, and if he put his mind to it he could be back at The Gate in a matter of hours. The only difficulty would be in crossing the creek. Kit wracked his memory as he picked his way around the potholes and puddles, trying to picture the route he and Barclay had used in previous floods and that Jem had shown them. The trail crossed the edge of a flat-open billabong but, if you followed the tree line, would rarely get deeper than knee level. That was not something that could be found in the dark, but in daylight it was a risk worth taking.

  As he kicked his long-suffering horse into a canter, his heart lifted. He couldn’t wait to see Matilda, to hold her close, and to tell her about his dreams for them. His mother would be less than impressed with his decision, but she would simply have to make do. He was not going to be dictated to by her unrealistic whims.

  If she wanted to move back to Sydney, he would arrange that, and the girls could make their own decisions. A town house—why not? It was acceptable in London and Paris, so why not in Sydney? The place was growing at a phenomenal rate, and buildings were now being erected that rivalled those found even in Europe. Sydney was a flourishing town, lit by gas lamps and with a university to boot. It needed a cosmopolitan society to fill it.

  The sky maintained its unrelieved grey. It was difficult to tell how high the sun had risen, but morning had definitely come and with it a break in the incessant rain.

  Much to her surprise, Matilda had finally drifted into an uneasy sleep. It had been haunted by selfish frogs and the ever-present memory of Kit’s body intertwined with hers.

  When she awoke, she pushed back the blanket and folded it up carefully. Jem had managed to read her mind once more, pressing a tin of warm black tea into her hands as she’d stood up. She wrapped her hands tightly around it, inhaling the pungent steam and relishing the scent of eucalyptus.

  ‘Are you nearly ready to go, Matilda?’ Apart from her somewhat bedraggled hair and rather dirty shirt, Beth appeared as cheery as she did any other morning. Matilda decided to push away any thoughts about the two sides of the girls she had seen yesterday. They were just too difficult to fathom.

  ‘I’ll just drink this, and then we can leave.’

  She turned to Jem. ‘Will we be able to get back to the house? Mrs Barclay will be beside herself with worry.’

  He nodded curtly, back to his usual taciturn self with the breaking of day. Matilda drank the tea quickly and made her way out of the cave with the others.

  The horses were saddled and waiting, and looked no worse the wear for their night in the open. The little party rode in single file down the narrow path and on to Wollombi Road.

  As he entered the valley, Kit’s shoulders dropped in relief and the curl of anticipation in his gut began to grow.

  Nearly home.

  He pulled to the right of the deserted road, avoi
ding the random potholes filled with muddy water. Scanning the calm expanse of flat water, he tried to remember exactly where the shallow crossing was. A gnarled group of tea-trees clustered together, the perfect symmetry of their reflections creating a weirdly distorted vista. That at least appeared to be familiar.

  Kit slid off his horse and led it carefully into the water. The water crept up his boots with each step, and he swore softly. One more step and he would have to turn back. Placing one foot carefully in front of him, he lowered his weight and waited for the level of the water to settle. He sank slowly, the muddy ground sucking at his ankles as the water rose above his boots to his thighs. His memory hadn’t served him well—this was not the spot.

  He edged around his horse, reins still in hand and unwilling to turn it, but unsure of the state of the ground beneath the water. As he reached the rear of the horse, his foot caught, and he lurched forward. Stumbling and praying at the same time, he tried to regain his footing and found himself standing on top of a small knoll. The water now lapped at his ankles.

  Carefully, he turned his horse around behind him. Through the calm water ahead, tufts of grass waved like seaweed beneath the shallow water. He took a step forward and then another. The water stayed at ankle level.

  He had found the path.

  Kit was unwilling to risk the horse stumbling, so he continued to walk it—slowly at first, then faster as his confidence grew. ‘Thank you, Barclay,’ he murmured to the overcast skies. He smiled with relief as there was a break in the greyness and saw the beginning of clouds and the tiniest patch of blue. He pressed on and found himself once more on dry land—his land.

  He had crossed the creek and now found himself on the driveway leading up to the house.

  Once mounted, he resisted the temptation to canter. He walked the horse up the sodden road towards home, towards Matilda.