by Lena West
The most she dared to hope for was an amicable alliance. But, she swore, their marriage wouldn't be entirely a loveless match. She had enough love for two.
Three, she amended, laying a hand on her still-flat stomach.
18
A last kiss for the faithless bitch and I'm away. I'll stop in at Merton's Store, ostensibly to buy tobacco; in reality, to spread the word of my departure. I want as many witnesses to my absence as possible, in the event they're suspicious enough of me to check. Not that I really think they will, mind.
She wouldn't think to. Her overweening arrogance is such, it wouldn't occur to her she might be caught out.
On the road at last. The road to freedom; if such it is that truth carries freedom in its train.
Death does.
Death offers the ultimate freedom.
The following day, with a cattle sale before Easter, Stephen and Thomas were mustering stock with their men, sorting out the strays from their own beasts, when Archibald joined them to claim those cattle bearing his own brand.
This section of The Ridge being unfenced, the cattle on these flats along the back creek were an assorted mob bearing the brands of several properties. While their men got on with the job, Thomas and Archibald sat in the shade, enamel mugs of billy tea in their hands.
“Your lad will be lucky to get this mob down to Scone without getting caught out by the rain that's on the way,” observed Archibald, falling back on the ever-reliable weather to open the conversation.
Thomas cast a critical eye towards the louring black clouds which covered the sky in the aftermath of the overnight storm.
“You could be right. I'll tell him to move them along smartly. Makes a change, doesn't it, worrying about rain instead of drought?” The weather dealt with, Thomas dared to introduce a more personal note.
“At the risk of being thought to be sticking my nose in where it's not wanted, Archibald, is your wife over her indisposition last evening? If there's any way I can be of assistance …?”
“She's over it.” Archibald, flushed beet-red. “She had too much to drink, that's all,” he muttered sullenly.
“It's a sad trial for a man when his wife's not happy.” Thomas looked away, not wanting to embarrass his friend, but determined to have his say. If a word from him improved the situation for his children, it was worth a few awkward minutes.
He ploughed doggedly on.
“Maybe a holiday would help? A change of scene?”
“I took her to Sydney for a holiday, just a while back. The woman is never satisfied. She's forever nagging me to go and live in Sydney. Sydney, I ask you! Then how would I manage Far Horizons? I'm off to Newcastle shortly. Maybe I'll investigate letting her live there. I could come up here for a week or two at a time. That might work.”
Archibald shrugged. That last had been a sop to satisfy Thomas and the rest of his nosy neighbours. He had moved beyond being interested in finding a compromise solution to his marital difficulties. But enough was enough. Giving in to the anger roiling just below the surface, he stood, tossing the dregs of his tea on the ground.
Damn Thomas Fortescue and his helpful suggestions! The man had no idea of the Hell his life was, married to a she-devil like Isabella. Archibald smarted at the knowledge the whole neighbourhood was laughing at him behind his back; taking him for a fool. He silently cursed the day he met Isabella.
Dumping the empty mug back with the others, he strode off to rejoin his men who were ready to move out with the stock bearing the Far Horizons brand.
***
With one eye on the thunderheads building to the north, Stephen got the cattle drive under way at first light, having camped out with the men to ensure an early start. It was a Sunday, but there were no objections.
The men going with him had been promised an extra day off in Scone before returning, to make up for missing their rest day.
It didn't hurt that it also gave him an escape from Lucy.
After the way he'd mauled her the night before, he'd been unable to face her with any degree of equanimity in the morning, despite her forgiveness. He didn't understand what was happening to him lately. All he knew was that the night before he'd needed the comfort of Lucy's body, as he'd never needed a woman in his life before.
As he'd never needed Isabella.
The why of it continued to elude him. His carefully constructed double life had come crashing down around his ears, and now he wasn't sure how he felt, or what he wanted.
Who he wanted.
A few days away with the men and cattle would give him a breathing space to sort himself out before he had to face his wife again. The excuse he'd sent home with his father, that the last thing he wanted was to be caught between two flooded creeks with a mob of cattle, had the added virtue of unassailable truth.
If the predicted heavy rain held off he'd be across the worst of the creeks before they rose in one of the flash floods that were the bane of the district. He could rely on Dad to guard Lucy, if she still needed guarding, which he seriously doubted. What reason could Isabella have to do any more harm?
His spirits rose with every mile he put between himself and his personal problems. It was such a welcome relief to do nothing but concentrate on getting his cattle to the saleyards.
A simple task, blessedly free of emotional undertows waiting to drag him down. Women could be the very devil of a complication in a man's life.
***
The drumming of more heavy rain on the tin roof woke Lucy from a restless sleep. There was too much empty space in the bed without Stephen's long limbs sprawled over three quarters of it. She lay, listening to the soothing sounds of the rain gurgling down the gutters into the water-tank on the corner of the house. Frogs, emerging from their cool hiding places croaked a symphony from the garden where an early-rising family of kookaburras chortled with glee. When she turned her head to gaze out the French doors into the garden she could almost believe the summer-brown grass was greener already. Until she came to live in the bush, she had never noticed how close to nature country people's lives were.
Voices called to each other from the kitchen on the other side of the house. Time to get up.
Nausea struck as soon as she bounced out of bed. She reached the wash-basin on its stand just in time to prevent a messy accident. So, this was the morning sickness pregnant women complained of! She'd complain too, if only she felt strong enough. She'd been experiencing a slight malaise most mornings recently, but nothing at all like this morning's attack.
On unsteady feet, she tottered back to the bed to crawl back under the covers, feeling horribly unwell. Bridget found her there after she failed to arrive at the table for breakfast. One look, taking in Lucy's pallor and utter misery, was sufficient for her to make an accurate diagnosis.
“Thought you might be increasing Mrs Lucy. You've got that look about you. You'll soon be feeling a bit more perky.”
She straightened the covers, wiped Lucy's face and hands with a moist cloth, and propped her up with extra pillows.
“Don't you move, now. I'll be back in a jiffy with a nice cup of tea and some plain toast.”
“Bridget! Wait a moment. Thank you, but don't say a word, will you? Please?”
Lucy blushed; a vast improvement on her earlier chalky complexion.
“I wasn't entirely sure, so I haven't told Stephen yet. Can you wait till he gets back, so I can tell him first, before everyone else knows?”
“Course I can, dear. I'm thinking the curry we had for dinner must have been a bit off. I reckon I feel queasy and all, too, I do.”
She winked as she bustled off, removing the basin Lucy had been using, returning it shortly, freshly cleaned. Without the sour odour of vomit in her nostrils, Lucy improved rapidly. The hot tea proved itself a wonderful restorative, and she even managed a few nibbles of toast, amazed at how much better she felt already. True to her word, Bridget had blamed her excellent Indian curry for Lucy's upset tummy, and no-one else gave her il
lness another thought.
There followed a happy couple of hours for Lucy, sorting out patterns, and planning her baby's layette. Later, she wrote a long, newsy letter to her mother, telling her of the delightful scheme Thomas had informed her of earlier this very day.
When Stephen returned from the cattle sale, the two of them would be off to Morpeth on a visit.
Several matters Thomas would normally entrust to the mails, he was placing in his son's hands, giving him increased responsibility in the running of the estate. She herself, was looking forward to visiting the shops.
Old Pete was kind enough to ride to Merton's Store during the afternoon to post her letter and collect this week's mail. On his return, Lucy noticed him in a huddle with Thomas and Will Murphy. Wondering if he had news of Stephen and the cattle, she joined them.
“Yeah, crick's risin' fast, orright. Up ta the 'orses' knees already,” Pete said.
Usually their creek was no more than an ankle-deep trickle where the road crossed it. Thomas instructed Will to keep a watch if the rain continued much longer.
“Is the creek really flooding, Dad? Will Stephen be safe if it does?”
“No need to worry your pretty head about Stephen, my dear.” Thomas gave her a reassuring smile.
“He'll have got almost to Scone by now, safe and sound. It's not him we have to be concerned about. If this rain keeps up, the creek will flood the low-lying pastures, and we'll have to move the sheep and cattle to higher ground. That'll mean hand-feeding till the water recedes.”
“So that's why Will has to watch the creek? So you can move the animals in time?”
“Exactly, Lucy. We'll make a country-woman of you yet.”
Thomas beamed with pride and patted her on the shoulder. He'd known Lucy was just the girl for his boy, and now the problem with Isabella Cummings had finally been resolved, his son would soon settle down to married life.
Maybe there would even be the patter of tiny feet to cheer them all up. He wasn't buying Bridget's story of bad curry, but he was happy to pretend ignorance till Lucy was ready to share her news.
“Dad, do you think I can help if you have to move stock in a hurry?”
Thomas opened his mouth and Lucy rushed on, stalling the refusal she read in his face.
“You'll be short-handed without Stephen and the men he took with him. The sale is tomorrow, so they might not be back in time. I can ride well enough, and I promise I'll do exactly as you tell me. Only please, let me help. Let me be a real part of the farming life here on Eden Vale. Aunt Hetty was saying other wives help on the land.”
Thomas hummed and hawed, finally reaching a compromise.
“If stock must be moved, you and Pete can drive the wagon over to the holding area with a load of hay to feed the poor beasts.”
It wasn't as exciting as chasing runaways on Snowflake, but it did mean she'd have a part to play. Lucy was satisfied with that. For now. Steady rain continued to fall throughout the night.
Fortified by early morning tea and toast, Lucy, alerted by Bridget, arrived at the breakfast table dressed in her riding clothes. In the end, she got her way, donning oilskins to ride out with the men and dogs to bring up the rear behind sodden, miserable sheep with Pete and one of the shepherds, while the rest of the men rounded up the feistier cattle. With it still raining intermittently the next day, she helped deliver hay, then rode down to the creek to look in awe at the swirling, debris-laden brown water rushing over the ford which had spread out to a boiling torrent ten times its normal width. Any fool attempting to cross would be swept away to certain death. She shivered, hoping Stephen had more sense than to try.
“Don't worry Lass. These creeks close to the base of the mountains rise quickly, then when the rain stops they go down again almost as quickly. Stephen will find somewhere to set up camp and wait it out.”
It seemed Thomas could read her mind. Lucy relaxed, listening to Old Pete's yarns on the ride back to the stables. If they were floodbound, so were all their neighbours. The freedom from having to watch over her shoulder all the time was exhilarating.
She hadn't realised how lowering it was being constantly on guard until now when she felt free again.
During the night the rain drizzled to a halt, and Lucy woke to brilliant sunshine. Safe from all danger, she enjoyed a lazy, carefree day that had the feel of a holiday, although even she could see the flood would create a ton of extra work, clearing rubbish, mending fences and moving the stock back to their assigned pastures.
Around the house, Bridget had discovered three leaks in the roof that would need to be mended before it rained again, and the garden was sadly bedraggled. Lucy hummed as she stitched tiny garments in the shade of the veranda. She missed Stephen; but didn't at all miss the tension and worry that had begun to plague her when he was near. She sorted clothes for their visit to Morpeth, eager to see her parents and Grandmama, and lay her cares aside till they absolutely had to be faced.
***
Arriving in plenty of time to rest the cattle after the fast pace they had pushed them along at to get across the creeks before they posed any danger, Stephen and his men set up camp close to the saleyards in Scone. It felt good to escape his emotional turmoil, and he'd be in no hurry to rush home to face it once more.
Until he had time to think about where he now stood in respect to Lucy, he much preferred to avoid her company. Too much damage had already been done. He would use this time to re-examine his true feelings before risking more.
His biggest concern here was that the rain which was coming down by the bucketload would keep the buyers away from the sale. How ignominious if he had to walk the same second-rate mob of cattle home again, since the aim was to cull the poorer quality beasts, and replace them with better breeding stock, thereby increasing the quality, and therefore the value, of their herd.
This was the first time his father had placed him in charge, and he was determined to make a good showing.
19
It's almost dark. Time to disappear from public view. Time to enjoy a last night of well-deserved repose before tomorrow; for tomorrow is my day of reckoning.
In the morning, I'll make my way home across country, unseen through the trackless bush. Then I'll see what I shall see.
It took longer than I expected, having to waste time circling round to avoid detection. The evening is almost upon me. This vantage point is as far as I dare ride. From here I have a clear line of sight to the homestead. My homestead, where I rule.
I can see them all scurrying around down there like busy ants, but no-one can see me. So, out with the trusty spyglass.
While there's still light, I'll see what everyone is up to; that they're all in the places where they ought to be.
Pity I daren't risk a fire. I'd kill for a …
Enough of that talk. The hardest part of my mission still lies ahead of me. I need to keep my wits about me if I hope to succeed.
I see no evidence of clandestine activity. Strange; I expected they wouldn't waste a minute of my absence. I expected that as soon as she sent the servants off to their quarters leaving her alone in the house, the dirty bugger would be there sniffing around her skirts; and more.
Surely I'm not mistaken? No! I have not misjudged her; the evidence of her sins was overwhelming. Absolutely conclusive. Wait, though. Let me think a minute.
Yes! There was a man heading in the wrong direction, only because he belongs on the property, I discounted him. But no, surely not even She would stoop so low as to bed a coarse, brutish ex-convict. If she has …
No-one could expect me to take an insult of that magnitude without retaliation. Decisive retaliation!
Quietly now. We don't want to alert our prey, if prey it is. Just a quick peek over the windowsill to be sure.
Easter had come and gone before Stephen reappeared on Eden Vale driving fifty head of prime heifers before him. Alerted by Pete, who brought the news of Stephen's impending arrival along with the mail, the household ha
d been galvanised into a flurry of activity.
Bridget hastily added his favourite dessert to the dinner menu; the girls, sensing an air of celebration, reset the table with the best silverware and crystal, which were usually reserved for special occasions; and Lucy hurried off to change her dress, choosing a sky blue taffeta Stephen had once complimented her on. For good measure, she put fresh sheets on the bed as well, even though it was three days short of laundry day.
Her favourite at-home evening gown was tighter than usual, a warning she wouldn't be able to hide her condition for much longer. Tonight, she promised herself. She would tell her husband the good news tonight.
Brush in hand, she grimaced at herself in the mirror, hoping Stephen was in a better frame of mind. He'd been horribly cast down when he left.
Maybe she ought to bring up the subject of Isabella during their talk. If the whole subject remained taboo, there was a danger of it festering and eating away at their relationship. Clearing the air could only prove beneficial, though it would take careful handling.
She didn't know if her reserves of tact were sufficiently deep. Wait and see might be the best policy on that issue.
Turning to Stephen's wardrobe, she laid out fresh clothes, then went to the bath house to check that there was plenty of water heating up in the boiler. She could imagine the state he'd be in after days camping out along the road.
Thomas rode out to meet Stephen and his men.
“Well done, Stephen, my boy. Are these some of the beasts Mrs Granger's selling off?”
He cast an approving eye over the mob of cattle patiently plodding up the track.
Bill Granger from the other side of Scone had died just before Christmas, and his widow, unable to carry on alone, was selling up. Thomas had heard there might be some good bargains to be had and had advised Stephen to watch out for them.