Frontier Wife

by Margaret Tanner

  “How did she die?” Tommy asked as she served him tea and cake.

  “Her heart gave out, brought about by shock and loss of blood I imagine. That’s what the death certificate will say. Between the two of us, a broken heart and a desperate desire not to be parted from her child.”

  “Yes, I thought the same. I suppose someone will have to inform that…that beast of a man Jarratt.”

  “Leave it to me, my dear.” The kind old doctor patted her hand. “I’ll see him on my way back to town, isn’t far out of my way.

  “Dr. Brannigan, if it’s possible, I’d like them to be buried together near Adam’s mother. He’d want that, too.”

  “You’ll have to abide by the husband’s decision.”

  “I doubt if he’ll care one way or the other to be frank.” In a few words she told him the tragic tale.

  “I’m not surprised, not from what I’ve heard about him over the years. Even an old coot like me listens to snippets of gossip now and again.”

  ****

  They buried Melanie and her baby near Adam’s mother the next afternoon. Jamie and Adam had still not returned, better for it to be all over and done with before they got back. Fiona’s father gave a simple, poignant service, the doctor, Tommy and Mrs. Rogers the only mourners. Fiona and her mother were down in Melbourne staying with relatives.

  The sun shone, the perfume of the roses wafted on the air and the breeze whispered that mother and baby now soared with the angels, free from all hurt and pain.

  As for Richard Jarratt, he must be the most fiendish, wicked man who ever trod the earth.

  “I would never have believed it possible if I hadn’t been there, Mrs. Munro.” Dr. Brannigan couldn’t hide his shock and disgust. “He stood there and said, ‘I don’t care what you do with her, she can rot in hell as far as I’m concerned.’ Then he slammed the door in my face.”

  Tommy reached out and squeezed the old doctor’s hand.

  “With God as my witness, as I turned to go, I heard loud female laughter coming from inside the house. I’ve met all kinds of people in my time, most good, a few bad, but I’ve never come across anything like this before. Richard Jarratt is pure evil.”

  “I agree.” If she ever saw him again, she would be hard pressed not to take a gun and shoot him. “At least he can’t hurt Melanie anymore.”

  ****

  Adam and a grubby, excited Jamie arrived home the next afternoon.

  “Tommy, Tommy.” He rushed onto the veranda and hurled himself at her. She stepped back, leaned down and hugged him. “We found lots of cattle and I mustered them, didn’t I? We slept on the ground by the fire. We—”

  “I’m glad you enjoyed yourself; run along inside now, my lamb, I want to speak with Adam for a moment.”

  “How’s Melanie?” Adam took off his hat and wiped the back of his hand across his forehead in a weary gesture.

  “I’m sorry, she’s dead.”

  “What?” His face took on a grayish tinge and a pulse convulsed in his jaw.

  “It’s awful. She had a miscarriage and didn’t recover.” Tommy blinked back tears as she told him the whole story. “Silly to be weeping now when it’s all over.” She dabbed at her eyes with a handkerchief.

  “I’m sorry you had to carry the burden alone. I wouldn’t have gone away if I’d realized…”

  “You weren’t to know. Mrs. Rogers proved a great help and Dr. Brannigan too. I couldn’t believe it when he told me what Jarratt said. How could any decent man think, let alone say such a vile thing about his dead wife?”

  “Hatred’s a terrible thing because it destroys the mind, twists and distorts the way people think. I’ll have to contact Arthur somehow; it will just about kill him. She meant the world to him.”

  They ate their dinner without speaking. During the somber meal, Tommy forced the food down her throat, Adam chewed morosely and Jamie sniffed every now and again.

  “If Melanie and her baby have gone to live with God, they might see Touser,” he said.

  “I’m sure they will. They’re probably playing with him even as we speak.”

  “You won’t have a baby and die will you?” Jamie asked in a worried voice.

  “No.” Adam shot the word out before she could answer. “There’s no likelihood of that.” His pebble hard eyes turned dark with bitterness and his face looked as if it had been hewn from granite. Without another word he got up and stalked out of the room.

  Jamie made to follow, but she caught hold of his shoulder with a trembling hand. “Stay here with me.”

  “Adam’s angry. Did I say something bad?”

  “No, he’s tired and upset over Melanie; it’s nothing you said.”

  It’s me. I’m the one he’s angry with.

  The weight of her deception dragged her down. Dear God, it would be such a relief to unburden herself.

  But if she did, any slight chance that he might do more than tolerate her as the mother of his child would be lost.

  She couldn’t bear to extinguish the faint hope she still nurtured, that one day he might grow to love her.

  Chapter Sixteen

  The English trees in the garden turned to gold and red, in readiness to shed their leaves for the long winter sleep, when the rain came again.

  The dried-up river had filled considerably after the first rains. Jamie no longer went with her on the frequent visits to the hut, being much too interested in what Adam taught him.

  Tommy sewed the baby's layette in the little hut. She almost laughed in his face when Adam sneered about the amount of time she wasted there. Wasted? The pile of dainty nightgowns and knitwear, the painstaking embroidery she performed, showed anything but wasted time. It helped ease her wounded heart.

  As the rain continued, many of the creeks up river, flooded and some of the low-lying farms were evacuated. What a strange brutal land. Drought and burning sun followed by torrential rain and flooding.

  During their midday meal one particular day, Adam looked at her. “The river is rising, by late tomorrow your little hut will be flooded.

  “What do you mean, flooded?”

  He paused for a moment. “By tomorrow there could be a foot of water in that hut.” His lowered lids veiled the expression in his eyes.

  “It can't, I've got things there.” She bit back on a surge of panic.

  “Some old bits and pieces. What if they do get wet?” He gave a careless shrug. She often got the impression he was jealous of the time she spent in the hut.

  “I've got all the…I mean, some of those things are quite good.” Her heart seemed to rise up into her mouth. She wanted to jump up from the table and rush over to rescue her things. With determination dredged from she didn’t know where, she forced herself to keep on eating so he would not become suspicious.

  The thought of all those lovingly created garments being destroyed had her clenching her hand into a fist under the table. It seemed in her agitated state, Adam prolonged his lunch.

  She watched him downing his third cup of tea as if he had all the time in the world.

  “Aren't you anxious to get back to the paddocks?”

  He gave her a hard, penetrating look. “Does my presence upset you?” His sensuous lips twisted.

  “It's just that the rain has stopped and I thought you might be anxious to do some work before it starts up again.” She gnawed her lower lip. Please God, make him hurry up.

  After draining his cup he stood. “As my presence is so offensive, I'll remove it. Coming, Jamie?”

  “Yes.” The child shot off his chair with such speed it brought a pang of jealousy. “See you at dinner.” He gave a cheerful wave, while a tight-lipped Adam stalked off without uttering a word.

  As soon as they departed, Tommy prepared to go to the hut. She would take a carpetbag and bring back all the baby clothes. She nearly gave in to the temptation to ride over, as it would be a long walk in the mud and wet. The return trip would be even worse carrying the heavy bag, but she dare not ris
k Adam’s child.

  “I’m going over to check on the hut, Mrs. Rogers.”

  “You should wait until Mr. Munro comes back. The river can be treacherous after heavy rain.”

  Tommy ignored the housekeeper’s warning. She put on a woolen cloak and with the bag clutched in one hand, left the house.

  The rain had cleared although the clouds still hung dark and menacing. Walking briskly swinging the bag in one hand, she passed paddocks carpeted in green. Early flowering wattle had started to bloom, the fluffy yellow balls a startling contrast to the deep green foliage.

  On arrival at the river, she gasped. It was now a swirling mass of murky water. Suppressing a shiver of trepidation, she edged across the log bridge, forcing herself not to glance down. Once her feet felt firm earth again, the fear vanished.

  The little hut stood forlorn amidst the gum trees. The air was perfumed with the earthy smell of the bush intermingled with eucalyptus. Unlatching the door, she pushed it open and shivered as a chill dampness assailed her.

  Would she light a fire? Perhaps put the billy on for some tea to warm her up. Why not? No pressing need to rush back to the homestead. If the floods did come, this little haven would be unavailable until the summer months. It might even be washed away, shattered into a million pieces, like her dreams of happiness. How could she cope with spending a lifetime with a man who didn’t love her?

  She lit the fire and set the billy on to boil, and within a short time the room felt snug. Sipping her tea with both hands folded around the mug, she stared into the flames. The orange glow had a hypnotic affect, making her eyes so heavy she couldn’t keep them open. A short rest would refresh and strengthen her for the return journey. Slipping her shoes off, she stretched out on the bed, pulling the blankets up around her shoulders.

  Sleep did not come; rather she floated in a half-conscious void. A blast of icy air brought her to a sudden, cruel awareness.

  “What the hell are you doing here?”

  She blinked as Adam's savage voice came again.

  “Lucky Mrs. Rogers got worried when you failed to return and sent for me.” He grasped her shoulders to drag her from the bed. “You little fool, the river is rising. Get your shoes on so we can get out of here.”

  “You didn’t have to waste your precious time coming here for me. I'm quite capable of making my own way back.”

  “It's almost dark,” he snarled.

  While she put on her shoes, he doused the fire. His anger mystified her.

  “What are you doing with that?” He glared at the carpetbag.

  “I've got some things I want to take back to the homestead.”

  She never referred to it as home, which always infuriated him. Although he said nothing, his eyes burned.

  Outside, the clouds hung black and heavy but no rain fell. She heard the river roaring as she waited for him to latch the door. Adam snatched the bag out of her hand. With his fingers gripping her arm, he propelled her towards the river, which had turned into a foaming, raging torrent.

  “Hurry up or that tree trunk could wash away. Fancy a swim?”

  She shook her arm free before cautiously approaching the edge. Fear churned up her insides, yet she gave no outward sign. Forcing herself forward, she put one foot on the trunk. It was wet and slippery from the spurts of water being thrown up every now and again.

  The log gave a sudden shudder before breaking away from the earthen bank that had imprisoned it for so long. With a cry, she toppled into the water. Weighed down by heavy clothing she had little chance of being able to swim, but she kicked and struggled to stay afloat. She tried to scream for help, but water poured into her mouth causing her to splutter and choke. She was spun and tossed into a black vortex. With relentless intent, the river sucked her downwards, deeper and deeper, even as she fought to survive. The crushing weight of the water forced her into an icy abyss, from which there would be no escape. She was going to drown. Her whole life flashed before her in a second. Her lungs were bursting, and she had the strangest sensation of hearing music.

  The instinct for self-preservation came to the fore, a clash of wills between her and the swirling mass bent on destroying her. She clutched at a tree branch that had somehow caught on a snag. The rough edges tore at her fingers as the violence and fury of the water swirled around. She fought the most important battle of her life.

  As children David used to call her Tommy the brave, because of the daring exploits she indulged in. Her arms were being slowly wrenched from their sockets. Her fingers felt raw and stiff, her legs so numb she could not feel them.

  A wall of water engulfed her for a moment, before sweeping on in a raging fury. Her hands started slipping. She only had to let go. There would be no pain if the river took her. Why fight against an unbeatable foe? Suddenly she felt something. It came again, a definite movement from deep within her womb. Adam's baby—alive, moving inside her, and she could not let him die.

  Once more she fought against the raging torrent trying to destroy them both. She now intended to win this battle. Her arms would have to be ripped from her body before she let go.

  “Hang on, Tommy.”

  She closed her eyes, gritting her teeth as the voice came again, closer.

  “Hold on, I'm coming.”

  Opening her eyes, she saw Adam swimming towards her. Another sheet of water, like a huge tidal wave, bore down upon them.

  “Are you all right, my darling?” He came beside her, his dark hair plastered into ringlets about his head.

  When Tommy again opened her eyes she found herself being carried by Adam towards the hut. He was as soaked as her.

  “It's all right, you're safe now,” he soothed in a gravelly voice. He stood her up. Supporting her with one hand, he fumbled with the latch, until the door of the hut swung open.

  Her teeth started chattering with cold, her limbs trembled and her head pounded. Adam grabbed up a blanket and wrapped it around her.

  “As soon as I get the fire going again you can get out of those wet things.” His voice held its usual brusque tenor. Of course, she had imagined the soft endearments he used before, because she wanted so desperately to hear them.

  “You jumped in and saved me?”

  “Yeah, I did.” He set the fire going once more, throwing on several logs so it would burn more fiercely. “Right, your clothes.” He moved towards her.

  “I can get myself undressed.” It came out sharper than she intended. If he tried to help her undress, he couldn’t fail to notice her condition.

  “Please yourself.” A pulse convulsed in his jaw, and the lines grooving either side of his mouth deepened.

  She fumbled with her bodice, but her torn fingers felt so raw and stiff they could barely move.

  He came over and without a word started taking off her wet clothes and she let him. She felt too exhausted and cold to do anything else.

  “My God.” He gave a tortured groan. The color bleached from his face until his skin turned white and sick. His eyes darkened with bitter self-condemnation. “It's a wonder you didn't let the river take you.” The harsh bitterness of his words shocked her.

  He wrapped her in a blanket then, and with a hand on her back, pushed her towards the bed. “Get in while I make us some tea.” He pulled back the blankets. She caught the look of amazement flickering in his eyes when he saw the bed made up with sheets.

  “I'm all right.” She climbed in and pulled the covers up to her chin. “You should change out of your wet things.”

  “I will.” He turned his back. “After I put the billy on to boil.”

  She shivered uncontrollably now, and her hands throbbed and stung. “The carpetbag, where…where is it?”

  “Near the river with my coat and boots.”

  “Get it for me, please.”

  “Don't be ridiculous, I'm not going out there again.”

  “Please.” She struggled to get up. “I’ve got to have it.”

  “Bloody hell.” He wrenched the do
or open and disappeared into the darkness. Returning within a couple of minutes he dumped the bag, his coat and boots on the floor.

  “Satisfied now?”

  “Yes, thank you. Now get out of your wet clothes before you catch a chill.”

  He stripped off his shirt. When he started removing his pants she turned her head away. If she saw him in all his naked glory she would do something foolish like begging him to make love to her.

  Within a short time he came up to the bed holding two mugs of steaming hot tea. Putting the mugs on the floor, he helped her rise. As the bedclothes started slipping off her shoulders he tucked them in under her arms. When he handed her the tea, he noticed her torn hands, and the breath hissed between his teeth. “You little fool, look at your hands. Why didn't you tell me?”

  “They're all right.”

  He scowled. “They're ripped to pieces.”

  “I'm telling you, they're all right.”

  “After the first few moments in the river you didn't try too hard to save yourself, after that you fought. God, how you fought to live. Why?” Dark and tormented, his eyes gazed into hers.

  “I thought it easier to die. But our baby kicked, not once, but twice.”

  He stared at her.

  “I think it's too early, but I felt him kick, I know he did. I fought because he wanted to live. I would have clung to that branch for hours if necessary. My arms would have been wrenched from my body before I let go.” Her eyes filled with impassioned tears. “Tommy the brave, David used to call me when we were children; only I wasn't brave, just terrified.”

  She drank the scalding tea and felt its warmth seeping right down into her toes.

  “Why didn't you tell me about the child?” His face took on a devastating pallor.

  “I don't know,” she lied.

  “How you must hate me.” He brushed aside her interruption. “For curtailing your freedom, giving you a child you didn’t want.” His voice sounded full of self-loathing and he looked like he had swallowed a bottle of poison.

  “Don’t say any more, please, just hold me, I'm cold.”

  He pulled her into the circle of his arms and caressed her loosened hair with the fingers of one hand.