by Di Morrissey
So Lara was pleased when she saw Barney pull up at the front gate and unload some wire and tools. Then he carried a plate covered in a tea cloth into the kitchen.
‘Hi, Lara. Fresh scones Helen’s just made. I thought I’d repair that fence you wanted done.’
‘Great, thanks, Barney. I don’t want Jolly getting out through that hole. I’ll put the kettle on. We’ll have it outside, I’m doing a bit of sorting.’ Lara waved at the coffee table in the lounge room, littered with letters and photographs. To one side there was a fraying bird’s nest.
‘Blue wren. What’s this for?’ asked Barney.
‘I’m finding bits and pieces for Dani’s new art project. She wants to do something different when she’s finished the Isabella paintings. She’s still struggling to find her niche.’
‘Can we contribute to her collection?’
‘She’s happy to accept any acquisitions. What did you have in mind?’ said Lara.
‘Oh, some blue feathers, a couple of feathers from a bowerbird. An old Aboriginal stone-cutting tool and a couple of shells that have been sharpened.’ He paused. ‘I was going to give them to Max, but I’ve decided to keep them.’
‘Where did you find them?’
‘At Chesterfield.’
‘I bet Dani would love to borrow the old implements and use them on a plate image and run it off,’ said Lara. ‘Then return them to you.’ Barney was fidgety and she felt he was leading up to something. ‘What say we have that cuppa?’
He settled himself at the old cane table and chairs on the front verandah as Lara put down the tray with the tea things. ‘Y’know how I went down to Sydney couple of weeks back because my great-aunty died?’ he began.
‘Yes. Sorry to hear that. How did it go?’
‘Blew me away, actually. You’re not the only one with family gaps . . . secrets.’ He reached for a scone.
‘Why? What did you find out?’
‘Jeez, Lara, I hardly know where to begin. My mother has always been tight-lipped about the family. Told me my paternal grandmother – Dad’s mother – died when I was a kid. Never knew much about Dad’s side. He died quite a few years back. Well, now it turns out my grandmother lived till she was in her eighties.’
‘My God, where was she?’
Barney’s scone sat untouched. ‘She was sent to Callan Park mental institution in Sydney. She died a few years back. In a mental home out in Orange.’
‘Why did they keep it a secret? I mean, she must have been ill . . .’
‘Lara, she wasn’t mad, she had depression. But she was Aboriginal. Mixed blood. They framed her, locked her up, to keep her ancestry secret.’
Lara stared at the olive-skinned, wiry man with the warm black eyes. ‘Really? And you had no idea?’
‘Not really. Helen’s not surprised.’ He turned and showed his thin legs sticking out from his shorts and ending in his work boots. ‘Says I have skinny Aboriginal legs,’ he smiled. Then looked thoughtful. ‘Looking back now I kinda wondered about things. When I was in a country town out west, a few blackfellas gave me a “Hi, bro” in the street. Lots of other weird stuff. And, you know, my father, he was olive-skinned, Spanish blood I was told. But he’d never sit in the sun, always under a tree, or he wore long-sleeved shirts and a hat.’ Barney began to spread jam on his scone.
‘Well, that’s a bit of a surprise. What’re you going to do about it?’
‘First I got mad, not knowing about my granny. I could have gone and seen her. That made me sad. How did she feel being in there? I don’t think there was anything wrong with her. I wish my father was alive so I could ask him questions, Mum’s ashamed and that’s why they kept it quiet all these years. Poor old Dad, lost all contact with his people, I guess.’
‘Do you know where he came from?’ asked Lara quietly, she could see Barney was deeply hurt.
‘Yeah. Out west, I’ve already made contact with them and I’m planning a visit. They sent pictures and stuff. I can see family resemblances all over the place. They’re planning a big reunion.’
‘What do Angela and the family think?’ Lara was thinking of Barney’s striking dark-eyed daughter.
‘Thrilled to bits. Think it’s great. Toby wants to know what tribe he comes from.’
Barney bit into his scone and Lara slowly sipped her tea. Barney had been hit with quite a bombshell, but at least he was finding family and filling in the jigsaw of his life. ‘So is that the reason you want to hang onto the Aboriginal artifacts?’ she finally said.
‘I had a long talk to Max, we’re wondering whether his people and my people ever connected. I think my mob were originally desert people while he comes from this area. But he’s glad Chesterfield is in a brother’s hands.’
‘Your place was his traditional land?’
‘Apparently. We thought we’d have a little ceremony of some kind. Just small, just family. That includes you and Dani of course,’ said Barney.
‘Thank you. Do you feel any different, Barn . . . knowing all this?’ asked Lara, trying to sift through her own feelings.
He broke into a wide smile. ‘You bet. While it’s hurtful at how they hid so much, I feel settled inside now. I’m hearing family stories, there’s a whole pile of rellies who want to know and accept me. That’s a good feeling.’
‘So is this public knowledge?’ Lara wondered what she might eventually find out about her father, and if she’d share it.
‘Not taking out a newspaper ad, but I’m not hiding it either. Been too much of that,’ said Barney. ‘It’ll just come out naturally I s’pose. Though Toby and Tab want to tell everyone at school. They think it’s cool.’
‘Thanks for telling me.’
‘I just thought you’d appreciate what it means to me. Finding out stuff, finding family. I hope you do too, Lara.’
‘Yes, me too. I just know there’s someone out there who knows something.’ She stifled the impulse to mention the letter.
Barney was already on his feet. ‘How about I tackle that fence.’
15
Riverview, 1852
Isabella
THEY RODE IN A leisurely style, young Kelly in front on the colt Isabella had given him. Florian rode beside Isabella, and Noona with her baby daughter propped in front of her followed. Florian and Isabella were discussing her plans to rebuild at Birimbal once they had evicted Mrs Skerrett and her children.
‘I’ve given her fair warning and been lenient in letting her stay past the lease while her husband is in gaol. But she must realise she cannot stay on indefinitely, especially when she hasn’t paid rent,’ said Isabella.
Florian nodded, though he had reservations. ‘Charles Skerrett has many friends, even though he’s locked away. I think there could be repercussions when he hears his wife has been evicted.’
‘The law is on my side,’ said Isabella firmly. Then she started to discuss plans for rebuilding her mansion. ‘The first matter to take in hand is the main house, I still believe an inn providing quality accommodation is sorely needed on this route to and from Port Macquarie. Mark my words, Florian, one day this part of the country will be in great demand.’
‘I hope the workers know what they’re doing, Miss Kelly. You know I’m really not much more than a bush carpenter.’
‘I’ve employed a man who is an excellent cabinetmaker and wood turner, he’ll see to the details and instruct the labourers. I’ll rely on you to manage the cattle and the staff when I’m not there.’
Isabella was enjoying living at Riverview, the house on the river. She was close to a pocket of rainforest where she’d found many more interesting plants for her collection. The view across the river gave her a great sense of serenity. It was a very different feeling from being on her hill where the bush was constantly creeping forward, swarming over the fences, making her feel an interloper trying to impose her will on the wilderness. At the river with its wide sweep of water, broad alluvial flats, flooded or not, she always felt she had a means of escape, that
she wasn’t surrounded. Not that she felt threatened and she loved the solitude of the mountain, but the river was a different world again and she sometimes sat and contemplated the bird life, fish leaping and the many moods of the stretch of water. She could see it would not be long before coastal ships would be sailing regularly up this river with supplies and passengers from Sydney and other ports along the coast.
Already there were men logging the hills of its rich timber, dragging logs by bullock teams to the river, then floating them downstream to basic bush mills to be used for building. There was a demand in the city for quality wood for furniture and Isabella intended to use local red cedar and white beech in her new home.
Florian interrupted her thoughts. ‘And Noona and the children, Miss Kelly?’ It still worried Florian, and indeed Isabella, that his Aboriginal wife and their half-caste children presented a potential problem in the eyes of white society and the law.
‘Keep to your own affairs, Florian,’ she said shortly. ‘And your own dwelling. Be discreet when there are others around.’
Florian understood. They’d established a custom at Riverview where Florian was occasionally invited to join Isabella for an evening meal at the dining table because Isabella wanted to discuss business matters or enjoy the company of the younger man who had been schooled in manners and conversation. At these times Noona and the children stayed in their simple quarters. So when a passing visitor, coming to the house one evening, had been invited to share the meal, as was the bush custom of hospitality, he had carried the gossip to the next town of Miss Kelly entertaining the handsome young ex convict at her table.
Isabella had also taken it upon herself to call for Florian’s son Kelly and had begun to school him in reading and writing as well as the basic niceties of table manners and courtesy.
Noona understood more English than she spoke and continued to speak to her son and baby daughter in her own language. She was a diligent worker when shown what to do in the laundry, house and garden, but preferred her own ways, unlike the other native girl who’d been trained by a missionary and worked in the kitchen. There was a strong cultural barrier between her and Noona.
Noona explained to Florian she would die if she lost her links with her traditions and he did not argue when she occasionally flung aside the clothes provided by Isabella and went walkabout, Kelly at her side, the baby slung in a woven string pouch in reach of her naked breasts. Kelly understood that it was important to know the bush and the spirit of the land and knowledge of country came from his mother. With equal firmness his father encouraged him to learn well what Miss Kelly taught him.
Kelly, who had ridden ahead as they were now on Birimbal land, had disappeared from sight but he suddenly reappeared at a gallop. He pulled up beside Isabella and his parents.
‘There are two men at the crossing,’ he said breathlessly.
‘Why do you look so concerned, lad?’
‘It’s the bad man,’ he gasped. ‘Mr Skerrett.’ Kelly had been in the background often enough to hear about the trouble between Skerrett and Isabella.
‘Impossible. He’s in gaol.’ Isabella spurred her horse forward nonetheless. On reaching the crossing she couldn’t see anyone, but there was a saddled horse drinking a little further downstream.
Then two men stepped from the scrub and stood in the middle of the track on the opposite side of the creek. One was Skerrett, hands on his hips, a cocky grin on his face. Isabella didn’t recognise the other surly-faced man with a thick moustache.
Isabella challenged them at once. ‘What are you doing here, Skerrett? I’ll report you to the authorities.’ Isabella glanced over her shoulder as Florian and Kelly rode into view.
Skerrett gave a harsh laugh. ‘Then do so, Isabella Kelly. I’m a free man. My wife petitioned to have me pardoned. It seems I have good friends in positions to help me.’
Isabella felt a ball of anger in the pit of her stomach. She had heard stories of Skerrett’s wife Maria, travelling around the countryside protesting her husband’s innocence to anyone who would listen. She’d visited him at Cockatoo Island Prison and there had been rumours of Mrs Skerrett orchestrating a campaign to get her husband released. She was known to have visited Magistrate Henry Flett – no friend to Isabella – several times. Isabella had given little credence to the talk though it had given her cause to pause before asking Mrs Skerrett and the nine children to leave her Birimbal property. But she had not expected this. That Skerrett’s barely-educated wife had got him pardoned.
‘Then I expect to find my home vacated immediately and you and your brood gone from my property. Rent and repairs are owing to me,’ snapped Isabella.
‘You owe me, not the other way around,’ said Skerrett brusquely. ‘I’m going to collect what is my due.’ Here he gave the scowling man beside him a broad smile. ‘And I intend that Mr Parsons here assist me and be my witness: I am claiming what is mine.’
‘And what might that be? I owe you nothing. I demand you leave my property.’ Isabella moved her horse to the edge of the creek.
Skerrett’s companion spoke for the first time, sounding rough and hostile. ‘I seen the paper. He wants his cattle and horses you tricked him out of. We’re goin’ to take ’em. It’ll do you harm to try and stop us.’
Isabella was outraged that Skerrett would attempt to steal the stock she’d left at Birimbal. ‘You have no right, no authority and no piece of paper. You’ll be back in gaol before you know it,’ shouted Isabella.
‘Take care, Miss Kelly,’ warned Florian behind her. ‘He has a pistol.’
‘And so have I. Out of my way, you’ve caused me enough trouble, Skerrett, leave my land immediately. You’re trespassing.’ She kicked her horse forward and charged across the creek at the two men, taking them by surprise. In his haste to get out of the way of the large black horse, Skerrett tripped and fell, rolling to one side to avoid her horse’s hooves. But Parsons leapt to the side and managed to fire a shot after Isabella as she thundered up the slope where she reined in the horse and turned and shouted to Florian, ‘Ride to Mr Andrews’ property, tell him these men have threatened and attacked me.’ And she raced away.
Florian turned his horse as Noona and Kelly came into view and called to his son, ‘Follow Miss Kelly, go to Birimbal. I’m going to Mr Andrews’ place. Cut downstream.’
Seeing the two men fetch their horses, Kelly pushed his strong young colt into the stream and splashed away a few yards before riding back onto the bank. He was swiftly lost between the trees.
Florian shouted at Noona in her language to take the child and hide from the men. He’d send Kelly to fetch her. That these white men were bad men. He saw her clutch the baby protectively in its sling and turn her horse away. He assumed the two men would go after Isabella. Mrs Skerrett and the children must still be at Birimbal. Skerrett was cunning, and Parsons looked to be an unsavoury character – clearly they’d hatched some plan to claim Miss Kelly’s cattle. Florian knew Isabella to be honest in her dealings, but he thought the men of the region, especially those like Flett and other magistrates, treated her most unfairly. In any dispute the men were always believed over Isabella.
‘Damn bitch of a woman,’ snarled Skerrett. ‘Always making trouble.’
‘I should ha’ pegged her one, or shot her damn horse from under her. Teach her a lesson,’ whined Parsons. ‘Who’re them people she’s with? Servants?’
‘A convict and his gin. He works for the Kelly woman.’
‘That’s agin’ the law, ain’t it?’ Parsons’ interest was piqued. ‘What say you and me do the law a favour and see that bit o’ black rubbish is sent back to the bush where she belongs.’
Skerrett was now mounted. He pulled a hip flask from a coat pocket and took a swig. ‘Kelly’s breaking the law allowing her people to mix with the blacks.’ Skerrett had heard the gossip about Florian and his native woman, that they had children and Isabella afforded them shelter. Now it occurred to him that the cold-hearted Isabella Kelly might
have a soft spot for the mixed-race family. He turned and grinned at Parsons. ‘What say you and me do a little hunting?’
‘Whooa, you an’ me goin’ to catch us a wild one, eh?’ Parsons brandished his pistol and kicked his horse across the creek.
Skerrett rode noisily along the track in the direction Noona had taken while Parsons, from behind scanned the bush then decided to take an alternative route and plunged into the undergrowth.
Noona had dismounted and hearing the thrashing of the following horses had crawled into a thicket, cradling her baby. She’d circled back and waded upstream after sending her horse in the other direction.
Parsons wished he had his dogs with him, the thrill of the chase was not the same without them. His horse picked its way through the overgrown scrub as he slashed at the bushes with his whip, cursing under his breath. Skerrett followed the track, his thoughts still on Isabella, so he didn’t notice the crouching figure of Noona, her hand over her infant’s mouth, smothering its whimpers.
Her abandoned horse had instinctively turned towards the creek, and Skerrett, hearing the hooves splashing across the creek, quickly turned and raced towards it. Seeing the horse without its rider, he swore under his breath, hesitated and decided to leave Parsons to hunt down the native woman. He continued across the creek and headed for Birimbal to have a showdown with Isabella. In his pocket he carried the document giving him permission to muster and sell the cattle on Isabella’s land. The document that Isabella believed had been destroyed in the fire months before.
Parsons soon realised that Noona had sent her horse in the opposite direction to which she’d fled. It had now become an obsession with him to find the black woman. He had a deep hatred of blacks. He had once slept with a gin he coveted and been attacked by men of her tribe. In the skirmish his best mate had been speared. Parsons swore that at every opportunity he too would ‘pay back’ the blacks.