‘Did you take our land?’ The young mother left, singing softly to her child, the folds of her skirt swaying gently.
Kate was left standing alone. The blatant response was not what she’d expected. In fact, Kate had hoped that the tribe was not responsible. She glanced up at the house. A whiff of smoke curled from the chimney. Sally’s confession should be reported but she worried about Mr Hardy’s response. Initially her employer wanted to make an example of one of the male natives after the theft, a public flogging was even discussed. Mrs Hardy was against it and thankfully Mr Southerland interceded and a loss of two months’ stores was the penalty. Not that there was anything to give the tribe now. Everyone was on restricted rations. No, it would be better to say nothing, Kate decided. To go on as they were, two peoples doing their best to live together. Such an arrangement had worked for the Hardy farm and apparently also for the Scotsman to the south thus far. With the boundary dispute resolved, a reason able friendship had developed between Mr Stewart and Mr Hardy. It seemed that the Scotsman had forged a strong relationship with the different tribes across his vast acreage, with some of the men becoming stockmen. It was proof that they could all live in harmony, and yet Sally’s parting words made Kate uneasy.
Mrs Hardy appeared outside the hut, slowly limped the length of the lopsided verandah, passed the kitchen and, lowering the hurdles, entered the vegetable garden slightly downhill of where the cook was washing in the copper. Neither woman acknowledged each other. One bowed low over a steaming cauldron, the other, basket in hand, selecting something from the garden. Mrs Hardy’s sickness had become impossible to conceal. Everyone knew she was ill. She spent most days resting, and even then she could be sitting on the stump chair at the table pressing native specimens for her sample book and suddenly fall sideways as if knocked unconscious.
Sophie appeared as the sun breached the hills to the east. The child was calling her. Gathering up the buckets and spade, Kate moved quickly from the fledgling orchard and ran towards a tree. The girl appeared from around the corner of the kitchen and began to skip down the hill, her mother waving to her as she passed. Kate ran further afield to where three close-grown trees stood. Sitting the buckets and spade on the ground, she hid from the girl. Kate really didn’t want to see her. Not yet.
‘Jelly-belly, Jelly-belly!’ Sophie yelled. ‘You’re meant to come when you’re called. Mama says you must.’
Does she now? Kate muttered. Lifting her skirts she made a dash for the next grouping of timber some twenty feet away.
The girl reached the orchard and walked around the plants examining them. ‘I know you’re here, Jelly-belly. You’re always here in the morning.’ Leaning down she snapped a branch from the freshly tended sapling. ‘Oh look, it’s broken.’
Kate gritted her teeth, but didn’t move. Pressing her shoulders against the rough bark, she looked down the short distance to the valley flats. A shepherd was opening the hurdles where the sheep had been contained overnight. There had been attacks by native dogs with the arrival of winter and Mr Southerland had enlarged the hurdles to hold five hundred head, thereby ensuring that there were enough shepherds to watch the sheep overnight. Between the animals and her position were two men on horseback and the yellow dog. Mr Hardy and Mr Southerland were inseparable. Were it not for the constraints of social hierarchy imposed by Mrs Hardy, Kate thought the two men would dine together every night, perhaps sleep under the same roof if possible. Such were their fortunes tied to the other.
‘Found you!’
Kate tied the shawl in a knot about her shoulders and continued staring ahead.
‘What are you doing, Jelly-belly?’
The time had long past for reprimanding the girl. The child was hardly going to address Kate properly when the mother still absently used the same moniker at times.
‘Jelly-belly?’
‘Go away,’ Kate scowled.
‘You can’t talk to me like that.’
‘You can pout and stomp your feet as much as you like, Sophie Hardy.’
The child was adept at turning on the waterworks, especially since she’d become aware of her mother’s illness. Kate couldn’t help that she’d never taken to the girl. As she moved away she slumped to the ground, her fists balling her eyes.
In the distance the two men continued surveying the bringing in of the sheep. The animals were soon to be shorn and then the wool would be headed south to market. The arrival of this first mob was like a beacon of hope, for Kate was determined to be with the valuable commodity when it finally left the property. She’d not discussed her leaving. Kate thought it best to announce her intentions when she was assured of escape. For that was what it amounted to.
‘Her ladyship has her nose out of joint.’ Mr Callahan and the convict, Gibbs, were walking towards the creek, but he dawdled to speak to Kate, the two of them watching as Sophie finally clambered to her feet and began to walk back towards the homestead. ‘There’ll be trouble at the big house.’ He gave a wry smile as he joked about the impressive homestead that they’d expected to see on their arrival.
‘There’s always trouble with that one,’ Kate replied.
The Scotsman waited until the other man walked on. ‘They found Betts. Mr Southerland rode out again yesterday.’
‘I didn’t know he was missing,’ replied Kate, surprised.
‘I reckon they thought he’d done a runner, but the poor bastard was dead as a doorknob with his head bashed in.’
Kate lifted a hand to her mouth. ‘Oh heavens, no. Natives?’
The Scotsman lifted an eyebrow.
‘He didn’t want to go back out there, Mr Callahan. He told me as much. He was very frightened.’
‘Well, I reckon the poor bastard’s dreaming of the Mother Country now. You know another mob of blacks have been massacred. Hunted down they were on a station to the south-west, a place called Myall Creek. The word is they was harmless, women and children and old men.’
Kate was shocked. ‘Who did it?’
‘Landowners, stockmen, convicts, who knows? Word is they went out hunting with muskets and swords. Settled a few scores they did.’
‘But why? Why kill innocents?’
‘’Cause them that own this land are sick of their meddling ways. The thieving, the burning. And there was whites killed just last year and now Betts. People don’t forget. Not when there’s money at stake. They needed to be taught a lesson.’
‘Murder isn’t the way.’
Mr Callahan rolled his mouth around like a cow chewing its cud. ‘What is then? For it’s them against us. This might not be much of a life but as I cannot be assured of what’s on the other side of it, I’d like to be here a wee bit longer. I’m getting meself a musket. Keeping it close. Have you still got that fancy pistol, girl?’
Kate patted the folds of the brown skirt she wore.
‘Good lass. Keep it ready.’ He looked heavenward into a cold blue sky. ‘They be washing the sheep. Too cold, it is. Aye, far too cold. They’ll die if there’s a frost in the morn.’
‘What do you mean by washing?’
Mr Callahan laughed. ‘They’ll not be boiling them up in a copper if that’s what you’re thinking, lass. No, it’s to the creek they’re going. Can’t have dirty wool being shipped to London. The buyers won’t have it.’
‘If you think they’ll die you should say something,’ Kate urged. ‘Tell Mr Southerland, at least.’
The Scotsman grunted. ‘They know everything, lass. Everything. If I weren’t who I was and they weren’t who they were, well, I’d slap them both in the listener.’ He doffed his cap and grinned his fatherly smile.
Kate noticed he’d lost another tooth.
‘I better go. Come down to the creek, lass, and have a look-see. The Missus will only yell at you half the day for being tardy.’ The man left with a wink and began to traipse after the other convict, who had already broken into a run. Mr Callahan increased his pace, a stumbling gait that was more limp than lope.
Kate’s shoes slipped on the frosty ground as she followed the Scotsman. The sheep formed an arrow-head formation, a convict flanking each side and the two horsemen bringing up the rear. They were large animals with coarse wool and she knew from overheard conversations that the Hardys hoped to purchase Saxon merino rams from Mr Stewart to improve the bloodline when funds allowed.
Losing sight of the mob briefly in the trees, the rhythmic calls of the animals grew steadily louder. Kate reached the sandy creek bank just as the lead of the mob appeared on the opposite side. On seeing the water they began to circle back.
‘Keep ’em ringing, keep ’em ringing!’ Mr Southerland yelled. He cracked a whip, cracked it again, forcing the mob in an ever-tightening circle. Finally a sheep stopped, sniffed the air, gazed across the stretch of brownness and walked in. The rest of the mob soon followed suit, urged on by a shepherd, the whistling and coo-eeing by Mr Southerland and the Hardys’ yelping yellow mutt.
In the middle of this disorder Mr Callahan and another convict stood waist deep in the middle of the creek, doing their best to dunk each animal as it swam past.
The sheep emerged in twos and threes, most thoroughly soaked. Finally, with the process finished, the men escaped the freezing water and Mr Southerland walked his mare across the creek. On seeing Kate he headed towards her. ‘What do you think of our methods, Kate?’
‘I wonder they do not freeze to death. What if there’s a frost in the morn?’
The man gave a chuckle. ‘Well, you’ve been keeping your ears open. I’m glad someone has.’ His gaze flickered towards Mr Hardy, who waited for his man at a distance. ‘It may frost, it’s true, but with luck it’ll be a good drying day.’
‘After the wool’s shorn, how long before it’s loaded for market?’
The older man cocked his head sideways. ‘Thinking of greener pastures, Jelly-belly?’
She didn’t answer.
‘I’ll be delivering it so you’ll know in good time, Kate.’ He pushed his hat back on his head and gave her a cool appraising gaze. ‘I might be inclined to settle down. Find me a few acres in the Cowpastures. I’ve got coin enough for it. You might be interested in joining me. I could teach you a few things that I’ve no doubt you’ve been missing out on to date. Things that I doubt that Reverend of yours could.’
Kate tried to answer but found her tongue all tied and twisted.
Mr Southerland burst out laughing. ‘Don’t worry, lass, I’m not the marrying kind. I’ll not besmirch your honour, although you could do with a good besmirching.’
‘Come on, Southerland,’ Mr Hardy called. ‘You as well, girl, you’re not paid to do nothing.’
The shepherds were following the sodden sheep back down towards the valley. Through the timber, glimpses of Mr Callahan’s blue twill trousers and check shirt moved in and out of the brush, the tail of the mob with their bulky grey-white bodies gradually disappearing from view. With their departure, the area grew quiet. There was not a breath of wind, not even a zephyr, to stir the leaves.
Kate walked to the water’s edge and sat on an upturned log. She knew she should be rushing back to the huts but the thought of leaving this place when the wool went to market was more than distracting. The piece of leather holding together the sole of her shoe had come loose. Untying it, she rested her bare feet in the water, wiggling her toes in the cold stream. It felt wonderful to have a moment’s peace even if her feet were verging on freezing. Cupping the water, Kate splashed her ankles. When she looked up there was a man standing on the opposite bank. For a second she was too shocked to move. Kate sat very still, thinking of the twenty feet that needed to be crossed before the safety of the timber behind was reached. The stranger guessed what she was thinking for he instantly held up a hand to stop her, slowly laying the musket he carried on the ground.
‘Who are you?’ Kate called, fumbling in her pocket for the pistol.
‘I don’t mean any harm, miss.’ He took a step closer. ‘I’m travelling through. I came to warn you that blacks have been slaughtered. There’ll be trouble.’
Kate’s fingers closed around the hilt of the gun in her pocket. ‘Have you spoken to anyone else?’
‘Yes, the Superintendent at Lago Station, but as I said I’m not from these parts and he wasn’t too forthcoming on giving directions to other settlers, except for this place, the Hardys’ farm, am I right? I saw the sheep being walked in and then sighted the chimney smoke so I figure I’m in the right place.’
‘You are.’ Kate relaxed her grip on the flintlock. ‘You best come with me up to the house. Mr Hardy will want to speak to you.’
As he crossed the creek, Kate quickly brushed sand and water from her feet and began to put on her shoes. The man was already in front of her as she struggled to straighten the flapping sole. She tugged at her skirt so that her knees were covered.
‘Here.’
To her amazement, the stranger knelt on the ground, examining the shoe. ‘You’ll have to get this mended, or you’ll go lame.’
His hair was dark, burnished with glints of copper. Lifting her foot he slipped the shoe on and, positioning the leather sole, tied it securely in place with the length of leather.
‘Better?’ He smiled up at her.
‘Better,’ she nodded. Whoever had heard of a man helping a woman dress? He wore a bracelet of shells around his wrist and smelt of grass and herbage. Kate smoothed her skirt more than was necessary. She could still feel the touch of his skin on hers. It had been a long time since someone had been so gentle. ‘Thank you.’
He smiled crookedly, one corner of his mouth lifting slightly more than the other. ‘We best find this Mr Hardy then, miss.’ His hand was extended.
Kate allowed the man to help her up and then together they walked towards the huts.
‘I’ve seen you before,’ he admitted, as the trees thinned and the dwellings on the hill became visible.
‘How? Where?’ Kate exclaimed, for if she’d laid eyes on this man before she would remember.
‘It was from a distance. Last year when you travelled with the wagons. My party heard musket fire so we went to investigate but by the time we got there you were already passing through.’
‘And you didn’t make yourselves known? If we were travelling in the same direction we would have done better to join up.’ Kate was quite taken aback by the thought of this man having seen her from a distance and remembering her.
‘We weren’t, so we kept on going.’
‘But, you’re here now,’ Kate pointed out, wondering at her boldness.
‘Yes,’ the man smiled, ‘I am. What’s your name?’
‘Kate Carter. What’s yours?’
He ignored her question. ‘And what’s a woman like you doing in these untamed lands?’
Kate looked across at her companion and liked what she saw. He was softly spoken with the speech of the educated and he seemed genuinely interested. ‘Surviving,’ she finally replied. ‘And you?’
‘Pretty much the same, although I’d not expected to meet a girl like you out here.’
‘Maybe I could say the same of you?’ Kate countered playfully. They had slowed in their walk, although Kate was unsure who’d done so first.
‘Maybe.’
Heavens, Kate thought, what had come over her? What would this man think of her, dallying as she was with a stranger? She’d never dallied with anyone, ever, except for maybe Major Shaw, and she didn’t know if that was the same as this. It didn’t feel the same. This is ridiculous, she decided. ‘It’s not far now,’ she told her companion, increasing her pace.
Mr Hardy was sitting on the verandah, drinking tea. On seeing Kate and the stranger, he stuck his hat on his head and stomped down the length of floorboards, a pistol in his hand.
‘This man’s come to warn us about the natives, Mr Hardy,’ Kate explained, realising that he hadn’t given his name.
‘Who are you?’
Kate looked apologetically at the man by her s
ide. One could always rely on Mr Hardy to be blunt.
He wiped at the sheen of perspiration on his brow. ‘I’m travelling through. Blacks have been slaughtered, women and children, to the south and I heard word that a half-caste by the name of Mundara is itching for trouble.’
‘We heard about the killings.’ Mr Hardy wrinkled his nose and spat on the ground. ‘But I haven’t heard of this Mundara. Anyway, he’s the least of our problems. There’s fighting going on everywhere and it’ll only get worse now.’
‘The Superintendent at Lago didn’t seem too interested in spreading the word to others. Yours is the only place he mentioned.’
‘That’s because everyone knows the blacks are uppity and no-one’s sure who led the last attack but they stirred the blacks up good and proper, so any man in his right mind is keeping ’imself to ’imself.’
The two men eyeballed each other.
‘Perhaps you’d like some tea,’ Kate offered. It was not her place to do so, but fortunately neither Mrs Hardy nor the child had appeared to commandeer the conversation and surely a hot drink on a cold day should be extended to a traveller. ‘I’ll fetch a cup,’ she said and walked quickly towards the kitchen hut.
On return the two men were still standing where Kate had left them. She poured tea from the pot on the rickety table and topped up Mr Hardy’s drink before carrying the pannikins out onto the flat where the men stood.
‘So why don’t you have a horse then?’
The stranger thanked Kate for the tea and took a sip. ‘Snake bite. It happened some miles back.’
‘And your companions?’
‘Resting. I’m travelling with an older man in our party. We’d hoped to cross the mountains to the sea before winter set in, but were delayed.’
Mr Hardy took a sip of the tea before tossing the remnants on the ground. ‘The sea? There ain’t nothing up this way. You’ve come too far north. You best turn back and make your way to Port Macquarie if it’s the sea air you’re after. It’s the closest settlement on the coast. You did lose your way.’
‘Yes,’ the man agreed, warming his hands on the tin cup while looking at Kate. ‘I reckon we did.’
Wild Lands Page 29