Birdman's Wife

by Melissa Ashley

  ‘Forgive me,’ I said in a low voice, ‘I cannot quite feel at ease with convict help in the house. Do you not fear for your possessions?’

  ‘Don’t think too poorly of them,’ Stephen said, smiling. ‘I am yet to encounter any thievery. To my mind those who have served their time deserve a second chance.’

  ‘Of course you are right,’ I said. ‘Please do not make too much of my reflections.’

  ‘And you have achieved all your success through land speculation,’ said John. ‘I’m aware there are high returns. In fact, I’ve purchased a small arable parcel in the Hobarton hills. If you come upon any opportunities you might recommend, I should like to discuss options. So long as I’m informed of the risks.’

  ‘Then you must speak with me,’ Will interjected. ‘Uncle’s shown me the ropes. We study the property notices of a Sunday evening, debating where to make an offer. There are two farms in the district on the market right now from pastoralists bankrupted by the drought.’

  ‘Will has an affinity for totting accounts,’ said Stephen. ‘Quite the head for business.’

  ‘Despite my lack of fancy education,’ said Will, raising an eyebrow.

  ‘Oh, leave it, will you?’ said Stephen, turning to John. ‘He’s jealous of my sons’ education. I suspect he wants to go and toff it up in Sydney himself.’

  ‘That’s not it at all,’ said Will. ‘All I’m saying is that getting by on one’s wits is the real test.’

  ‘Steady on, Will,’ said John. ‘It’s Stephen’s business how his sons are educated. And Henry is at the same school.’

  ‘I don’t think Will meant to insult us. And he makes a fair argument,’ I said, unable to resist defending my late brother’s son.

  ‘Has Stephen mentioned his charge?’ asked Will. ‘He’s taken up the education of a native boy by the name of Bungarrie, sent him to boarding school with his sons. And from what I hear, Bungarrie outshines the whole class in his arithmetic and grammar.’

  ‘There is no doubt the lad’s gifted,’ said Stephen.

  ‘He outshines my cousins, and Uncle can’t quite digest it.’ Will beamed.

  ‘Do you think he is happy, being separated from his family and home?’ I said. ‘It must be such a change for him to have been put to lessons.’

  ‘I should hope so, although I cannot say,’ said Stephen, frowning, ‘only that the fellow is very clever.’

  ‘That reminds me to thank you,’ said John, motioning to the maid to refill his wine glass. ‘Natty and Jemmy, the native trackers you loaned me for my expedition to the Liverpool Plains were exceptional. Indeed, in the absence of Gilbert, they became our most valued companions. Their deep knowledge of the land and their uncanny remembrance of landmarks without recourse to a map and compass, their reading of weather conditions several days in advance, their familiarity with the habits of local birdlife – their talents are utterly astounding. I’ve added a column to my notes to record my trackers’ knowledge of migratory patterns, along with the names they’ve assigned each species they assist me in collecting. They have aided my research a good deal. The young fellows shimmy up the tallest trees to fetch clutches of eggs. My stomach turns circles at the sight. We’ve also copied their practice of wrapping food in paperbark while travelling, applying it to our birdskins. It works a treat at keeping away the ants.’

  ‘You’re welcome to employ Natty and Jemmy again to explore the Liverpool Plains,’ said Stephen.

  ‘I’ll take them indeed, thank you.’ John turned to Will. ‘And what about you? Can I drag you away from your sums for a while?’

  ‘So long as you’ll permit me to fire a gun,’ said Will.

  ‘I’ll even provide you with your own horse,’ said John. ‘Do consider it.’

  ‘I’m open to persuasion,’ said Will, raising his glass.

  Several days after our arrival, Mary and I were playing with Frank in the parlour when I heard footsteps on the veranda. A knock sounded at the door and in walked my brother Charles, hat in his hands, his face grimed with dust from the road, crinkles around his blue eyes.

  ‘My dear Charles,’ I said, rushing to embrace him. I picked up Frank to introduce him to his uncle.

  Charles smelled of tar and grass and a chemical I could not place. He was sinewy, like Stephen, as if farm work had eaten the excess flesh from his body, replacing it with a formidable hardness, dignifying the heft of his chest and shoulders. With his silvered beard and drover’s hat, my little brother looked quite the dashing adventurer.

  ‘I’ve not seen you so well, sister,’ said Charles, grinning broadly.

  ‘I’m in perfect health,’ I said. ‘But what of you? Do you not eat? You are so thin.’

  ‘It’s the heat, truly.’

  ‘I have to admit I was thoroughly disappointed that you weren’t here to greet us.’

  ‘I’m sorry. I wanted to be here but I lost a herd of sheep,’ said Charles. ‘It took several nights to recover them. With the dingoes and dog packs, you can’t be too careful. They make nasty work of the lambs. Will you accept my apology?’

  ‘I think I shall,’ I said, taking his hat and trying it on. ‘There now, what do you think?’

  ‘We’ll make a drover of you yet.’ Charles laughed.

  Later that afternoon, after my brother had bathed and joined us for lunch, I asked him to accompany me on a walk. I wanted some time alone together and I thought we might explore Dart Mouth Brook, the stream marking the eastern boundary of Stephen’s property. River gums secured the creek’s bank, and callistemon and grevillea shrubs enlivened its surrounding brush.

  After catching up on all our news, my brother and I settled into our old companionable silence, enjoying our surroundings. ‘Will you ever return home?’ I asked abruptly.

  ‘Not very likely,’ said Charles, a stem of grass between his lips.

  ‘I always took you for a city boy. What is it here that keeps you?’

  ‘The colony’s grown on me, you could say. There are opportunities. You remember how difficult it was for me in London?’

  ‘I do,’ I said. ‘And have you found yourself a sweetheart?’

  Charles smiled. ‘You don’t give up, do you? There aren’t many women here who share my interests. Yes, farming for sure, but as for collecting specimens, I’m yet to find someone who understands.’

  ‘Do you attend the local dances?’

  ‘Surely I’m a little old!’

  ‘You should accompany Stephen to Sydney. Go to the Governor’s Ball – you might meet an adventurous lady there.’

  ‘Do stop meddling, Eliza.’ He laughed affectionately. ‘I’m perfectly content being a bachelor for now.’

  Looking out onto the dramatic vista to the far side of the stream, I had to concede that this land could grow on one. There was a peculiar beauty to the brittle landscape, one no Londoner could hope to imagine without seeing it for themselves. I liked the shape of the trees’ canopies, the abundance of birdlife and sweet-smelling native plants. Most of all, I loved the land’s fragile quality, which only increased its fairness.

  A blast from a shotgun shattered my reflections. I glanced east, catching a flock of teal lifting off a dam.

  ‘Come,’ said Charles. ‘We don’t want to put ourselves in the line of fire. And it looks like there’s some cloud building up.’

  Crossing an expanse of pasture, my brother put a finger to his lips. He tilted his head to the sky and I followed his gaze. A flock of swifts cut and dove beneath the low cloud. Tiny kites slicing through the late afternoon sky.

  We could not resist stopping to watch. My brother lay back on the grass, hat under his head, staring into the clouds. I followed his example, losing myself in the silent acrobatic turns and whirls of the needle-tailed swifts.

  The build-up of cloud did not break, scudding away as quickly as it had appeared. And nor was there any sign of much-needed rain during the coming week. But there was no room for fretting: the shearing season was upon Yarrundi, and the farm
was quickly inundated with workers. Shears sharpened and ripe with travel sweat, the workers trooped into the big shed ready to begin the thirsty work of freeing Stephen’s sheep of their winter fleeces. While Stephen would remain at Yarrundi to oversee the shearing, John, Benstead, Will and Charles were preparing for an expedition to a remote and largely unexplored area north of the Liverpool Plains. The area sounded particularly promising for new specimens of marsupial, John’s latest obsession.

  In the absence of the other men, I noticed a subtle change in my older brother. He moved about the farm at a frantic pace and yet, despite his enormous spirit, seemed somehow troubled. Stephen’s dedication to his farm could not be faulted. From my room I could hear him rising from bed, often waking earlier than young Frank. Within minutes he was dressed, striding to the kitchen to rush his tea and porridge before closing the front door behind him on his way to meet the day’s tasks. My brother wasted no time in setting me up in the parlour with a drawing desk. He had thoughtfully asked a maid to line it with lace cloth, but of course I had to remove it, explaining how messy my work could be. He hovered over me, fussing about with the curtains, determined I should have adequate light. He offered to take Mary and me for an outing to the Muswellbrook and Scone markets, suggesting I should replace my ratty shawls and scarves. Over and again I told him I had little time for diversions. I had a formidable swathe of skins to sketch, including a bundle of undescribed species from John’s South Australian expedition.

  Out of the blue one afternoon I was pleasantly diverted by a visit from a North American party of botanical explorers headed by a Mr Charles Wilkes. The group had taken lodgings at a farm some five miles from Stephen’s property and heard talk of our project. The botanists had ridden the same route as our expedition along the Upper Hunter, collecting samples of cypress and scribbly gum, tumbledown, bimble box and ironbark.

  I found the gentlemen’s manners and accents enchanting, and readily agreed to Mr Wilkes’s request to observe me at my work. I had been drawing the quail thrush genus: the commonly encountered spotted species with handsome splodges on its undersides, and an undescribed species sporting a chestnut back and distinctive white stripes above and below its eyes. The novelty quail thrushes had been captured in the Mallee scrub north of the settlement at Adelaide. John had discovered the species when he had stopped by a saltbush clearing to take his luncheon. A pair of the birds had wandered out from behind a stand of mulga. John crept up stealthily and raised his net – kept on hand at all times – trapping them both.

  As well as sketching John’s birdskins I conducted my own studies of Yarrundi’s native plant life. I sketched the entrancing gumnut, its fluffy stamens hidden in tough capsules until the sun flipped the caps on their wooden heads, unveiling ruffles of lemon, pink and cream. I drew the segmented casuarina needle, wishing I could convey its oily cypress perfume with my brushes. And the red and orange combs of the grevillea, its looping styles round-tipped like the yellow phosphorous heads of matchsticks.

  On the verge of falling asleep one night, I was frightened awake by a crash. I lit a candle and tied on my dressing gown to investigate. In the kitchen I discovered Stephen crouched before a chair and picking up glass with his bare hands.

  ‘Careful,’ I said, ‘you’ll cut yourself.’

  Stephen swivelled his head, his eyes wild.

  My brother seemed fragile all of a sudden, his beard untrimmed, deep pouches beneath his eyes. ‘Why don’t we do this in the morning,’ I suggested, ‘when there’s better light?’

  ‘You have had trouble sleeping as well?’ he asked.

  ‘With Frank, I cannot ever be assured a proper night’s rest.’ A small lamp on the table shed light on a half-empty rum bottle. ‘Is there something the matter? You know you can talk to me.’ I rested my hand on his shoulder.

  ‘Can you fetch me another glass?’

  ‘Only if you permit me to fill it with water.’

  Stephen sat down at the table, his head in his hands. ‘I fear I’m to be ruined, Eliza.’

  ‘You’re far from ruin, dear brother. Everyone’s burdens seem worse in the middle of the night. You’ll feel strong again in the morning.’

  ‘I know it appears I’m doing handsomely,’ Stephen said. ‘But it’s not the case.’

  ‘Drink some water,’ I said, drawing out the chair next to his. ‘You’re just feeling sorry for yourself.’

  My brother shrugged.

  ‘Come now, don’t be so morose! I meant to ask you, how is Will coming along?’

  ‘He’s insolent,’ said Stephen abruptly. ‘I understand why his stepfather wished to ship him to Cape Town.’

  ‘But you’ve let him stay on. It sounds as if he’s been an asset to you in other ways. He cannot be an utter disappointment.’

  Stephen drummed his fingers on the table. ‘You’re right. I didn’t mean to dismiss him, just state a fact. He is as cheeky as ever, but despite that he’s a champion worker. I’ve given him several men to look over. It seems they’ll do anything for him. He’s a knack for organisation.’

  ‘You’ve done the right thing. Will needs responsibilities – he’s up to mischief otherwise.’

  ‘That part of him is yet to be fully extinguished,’ mused Stephen. ‘He’s too clever for his own good.’

  ‘Well, don’t let Will get to you. You need not add to your troubles.’

  ‘If only it would rain.’ He sighed. ‘The cost of living here is exorbitantly high. I’m rather overstretched with my loans.’

  ‘I think a change in the weather is on its way.’

  ‘No matter, I’m done for anyhow. No woman would want me in my state.’

  ‘How can you say that? You’re a success. I can’t imagine a woman who would not be impressed by the fortune you’ve amassed, the property you’ve built.’ It had not occurred to me that Stephen wished to remarry. I wondered if an engagement had fallen through.

  ‘May I tell you something, sister?’

  ‘Anything.’

  ‘While I was in Sydney I visited a specialist eye doctor. I was sent by my physician in Muswellbrook.’ Stephen’s eyes filled with tears.

  ‘Whatever is it, my dear?’

  ‘It seems the membranes of my eyes are thickening.’

  ‘What does that mean?’ I said, full of dread.

  ‘I will be blind, Eliza! In three years I will be blind,’ Stephen sobbed. ‘What woman would do with a blind husband?’ He kicked at a chair, which fell over.

  ‘Oh, Stephen,’ I said, holding back my tears. ‘How it pains me to hear of your suffering. Might you pursue a second opinion?’

  ‘This was my second opinion,’ said Stephen sadly. ‘This eye business, what with my debts, has taken me back to the months following Sarah’s death. Every time I pick up a rifle, I fear I might do something rash.’

  ‘Do not say such things!’ I scolded. ‘Think of your sons. Let’s pray the doctor has made a terrible mistake. Can we help in any way? I’m sure John must know of someone in London who could advise of another expert to consult.’

  ‘Thank you, Eliza, but I am assured that I have consulted with the best men in the field. I have to face facts.’

  ‘I’m so sorry. I cannot imagine what you must be feeling. But you have your boys and your farm, Stephen, and you have much work to keep you occupied. Try not to let this defeat you.’

  ‘It is a great comfort to have you near. But while you are my guest you must permit me to spoil you. No matter your husband’s priorities, you deserve to feel like a lady once in a while.’

  ‘Please, as your sister, let me know if there’s anything, anything at all, I might do to help.’

  ‘For the moment you may assist me to my bed,’ said Stephen, rising unsteadily from his chair.

  Chapter 19

  Brush Turkey

  Alectura lathami

  Yarrundi, ‘Place of possums’ 1839

  Two buzzards announced the return of John’s hunting party to Yarrundi. The raptors circ
led the bullock-drawn wagons, attracted by the corpses within, white targets branding their wingtips. John, Charles, Will and Benstead had been away for more than two months, driving inland on horseback along the courses of the Namoi and Mokai rivers. As the shearing season had finished, Stephen offered John the use of his shed to organise and store his materials and skins, so John wasted no time rounding up a handful of shearers who had lingered in the hope of off-season employment to help preserve his specimens. Most were experienced hunters and trappers, and they learned quickly how to remove the tissue and bone from the skins without making marks or holes.

  On a visit to investigate how things were progressing, I saw that Charles had set himself up a work post with a clutch of marsupials. My brother’s approach to stuffing was as methodical as ever. He arranged his tools in ordered rows like cutlery for a fancy dinner: forceps, scissors, scalpel and tweezers. He cleaned the blades with a soft cloth as if they were silverware. There were benefits to his meticulous approach. My brother never lost a skin: eye rings stayed whole, necks intact, tails kept their full fan of feathers and wing joints were folded unbroken.

  ‘Is John working you half to death?’ I joked.

  ‘I’m glad of the opportunity,’ Charles replied. ‘It makes farming bearable. If I can shoot once every few weeks and do this, I’m able to endure a good deal.’

  In less than a day the grey-beamed shearing shed resembled an abattoir. John and his party had trapped and shot wallabies, kangaroos, sugar gliders, quolls, wombats, echidnas and koalas. Hessian sacks had been spread across the floorboards to capture the visceral waste. Few creatures were spared my husband’s ambitions; he had instructed his collectors to pack the brace bags until they were full.