by Bonnie Leon
Dusty sat with his back straight and his eyes staring at the ground in front of the horse.
“I’ll not forget this day,” Daniel said. “And God will give you your just rewards.”
Wade pressed the barrel of his rifle harder against Daniel’s head. “Figure the Almighty would just as soon clean these beggars off the face of the earth than not, eh?”
Nausea swept through Daniel. Dusty was going to die. He looked at the young man. The rope was tight about his neck. Fear showed in his dark eyes, but he sat steady and sure. He made no sound of protest nor fought the men. He’d accepted his fate.
Dusty’s eyes settled on Woodman. He nodded at his friend.
“All is well, mate,” Woodman said. “Our mother the earth is waitin’ for ya.”
“Anything you want to say?” Luke asked Dusty. He looked as if he were enjoying himself.
“Did nothin’ wrong. That’s it.”
“Right, then.”
Luke swatted the horse, and the animal reared and then ran, dropping Dusty with a hard jerk. There was a sickening thud, and then he hung limp, unmoving. A sharp breeze picked up dust and swirled it around the tree.
Woodman stood silently staring. Daniel pressed his cheek against the dry ground. It was the only thing that felt solid or real.
“We’ll tell Mr. Marshal you got his message,” Luke said as he swung up onto his horse.
Without another word the three men rode away.
Pulling his knife from its sheath, Daniel hobbled toward Dusty. He didn’t want to look at the young man. Only minutes before he’d had a life. Now . . . now he had nothing.
Woodman hurried to Dusty. “Shouldn’t ’ave happened,” he said.
Daniel could think of no appropriate response. Fighting down nausea, he held Dusty’s body against his and sawed at the rope.
Woodman kept an unreadable expression as he stood in front of Dusty and held him steady. The rope gave way, and he winced slightly as the body dropped against his chest. Stoically he hefted the man onto his shoulder and then turned and eased him to the ground, where he leaned his friend against the tree. Blood from Woodman’s wound stained the front of Dusty’s shirt.
He stepped back and gazed at his friend. “Sorry, mate. Not roight they done that.”
Daniel moved to Woodman and rested a hand on his shoulder. “I’m sorry.”
“Nothin’ ya have ta be sorry ’bout. Ya couldn’t ’ave done more.”
“You all right?” Daniel asked.
Woodman glanced at his arm. “Yeah. It’s the bleedin’ ya can’t see that hurts a man.”
Daniel understood. Dusty’s death was one more injustice done to a black man, a scar Woodman would carry, like so many others. He stared at Dusty and then glanced at the place he’d last seen Marshal’s men.
They think they’ve won, but they’ve lost. They’ll pay. I’ll see to it. Bitterness felt like a salve.
Feeling as if a poker were impaling his thigh, Daniel limped to his horse and grabbed the canteen from the saddle. He took a swig, then poured water into his hand and splashed his face, rubbing it hard against his skin. No amount of scrubbing could clear away what had happened. The image of Dusty’s death lingered. Daniel knew it would remain always. He screwed the canteen lid on, draped the container over the saddle horn, and then dusted off his hat.
“Ya all roight?”
“Yeah. I’ll be fine.”
Settling the hat on his head, his eyes returned to Dusty. Daniel had never been able to fully grasp the reality of death. Minutes ago the young man had breathed the same air Daniel breathed. His heart had beaten, and blood had coursed through his body. And then . . . he’d gone, calmly accepting mortality.
Daniel’s chest tightened, and anger heated his belly. No man deserves to die like that—innocent.
“He’s fine now. Gone ta our mother.”
Daniel barely heard. His mind reeled with what had taken place. Could he have done more? He looked at the rope still hanging from the tree, suspended like a serpent. He moved to the tree, stopping directly in front of the rope. With ferocity he grabbed hold of it, yanked it down, and pitched it away. Dirt puffed into the air, and the rope lay still. Daniel watched it a moment as if it might move and writhe away.
“The world’s a mess, eh?”
“Yer roight there.”
Daniel looked out over the land. Except for an occasional clump of scrub and a small, twisted gum tree, the flats were empty. Often he’d sought out the land’s stillness, receiving its offered tranquillity. Today it left him bereft, its silence pervading the plains with sorrow. A breeze sighed and bent dry grasses. The ground beneath the heavy steps of the horses seemed bleak.
Daniel’s thoughts looped back to Dusty and the ugly way he’d died. He considered the man’s family, and a knot formed in his gut. He’d see to the care of Nan and the children. They could stay on at Douloo as long as they liked. He’d provide whatever they needed. Still, as he considered their future, he realized it offered little. Nan could hire herself out as a housemaid or a field worker. Daniel’s malaise grew. She had no good options. Perhaps if her children had an education . . . For the first time Daniel grasped the importance of Rebecca’s school. An education offered the aborigines their only hope.
His thoughts returned to Dusty. He’d been stoic. The vision of the man’s courage made Daniel feel small. How had he let those men get the better of him? All of this was his fault. All of it.
And what of Dusty? Had he gone to some mythical place where his earth mother cradled him in her arms? Like a drying leather strap, guilt tightened around Daniel’s chest. I should have told him about Jesus. His mind took him back to missed opportunities and then to the man Dusty had been. He’d believed in the ancient cultures. He’d never have listened to Daniel.
The agony of guilt and shame crashed down on Daniel. I am to blame, aren’t I? All of this is because of me and my foolishness.
He gazed at the distant horizon. Already pink touched the sky and the tufts of clouds hanging in its vastness. He forced himself to look at Woodman. “I’m sorry. I . . . I’m sorry.”
As Daniel approached the house, he tried to quiet his inner tension, but no matter how many times he wiped his palms on his pants, the reins remained damp in his hands. He was so besieged by the weight of his blunder and his guilt that he barely felt the throbbing in his leg. Rebecca pushed out of a chair on the porch and walked toward the steps. He had to tell her, but how? How could he explain that Dusty had been killed because of the deal he’d made with Marshal?
Her hand resting on her rounded abdomen, Rebecca moved slowly down the front steps. Daniel couldn’t look at her. He turned the horse toward the cottage where Dusty had lived with his family. Nan stood in the porch shadows, remaining there even when Daniel and Woodman stopped in front of the little house.
Daniel dismounted and walked up onto the porch. Woodman stayed with the horses.
“I’m sorry, Nan,” Daniel said. “We tried to save him.”
The aborigine woman’s eyes held Daniel’s for only a moment, but he could see her distrust.
“Me Dusty’s gone. Done in by them mongrels.” Nan compressed her lips, and her black eyes glittered with loathing, but there were no tears. She waved away a harassing fly. “He’s in a better place now though, eh? This world’s no good.” She gazed at three youngsters huddling just inside the door. “Me bybies ’ave no father now.”
“I’m sorry,” Daniel said again. “We tried to stop them, Woodman and I.”
Nan managed a stiff nod, then looked at Woodman. “I’ll need help with ’im.”
“Roight,” Woodman said. “Daniel and me can carry ’im inside.”
Nan looked at the ground and then nodded toward Daniel and said, “Not ’im.”
Woodman glanced at Daniel. His broad face had lost its comfortable quality. He looked worn out. Deep lines cut across his forehead and angled down his cheekbones. His graying, bushy eyebrows rested heavily on his ey
elids. With a wince of pain, he took a handkerchief out of his back pocket and wiped dust and sweat from his face. He replaced the handkerchief, then looked back at Daniel. “I can get ’im, then.”
Koora stepped up to the horse. “Yer bleedin’. I’ll help ya.” With a grunt, he hefted Dusty onto his shoulders. Bent beneath the man’s weight, he followed Nan and Woodman inside the cottage.
Daniel turned and watched his mother and Rebecca walk toward him.
“What happened?” Willa asked.
“They hanged him.”
Willa’s golden complexion paled. “Why would those men hang Dusty? What has he done to them?”
“Nothin’,” Woodman said, stepping onto the small porch. “He got hanged ’cause of bad judgment.”
Guilt building, Daniel glanced at Woodman. This was his fault. If he’d been wiser, Dusty would still be alive.
“We’ll talk about that later,” Willa said matter-of-factly. “You’re hurt, and so is Daniel. We need to get the doctor out here.”
Feeling contemptible, Daniel watched Woodman step back inside the cottage. He felt a hand on his arm and looked into Rebecca’s dark, compassionate eyes.
“Come into the house.” She settled his left arm over her shoulders and braced him as they moved toward the porch.
“I tried, but we couldn’t stop them. They . . .”
“I know you did all you could.”
Willa walked alongside Daniel. “We’ll settle all the rest later, but right now I’m thankful you’re alive. You best get out of the sun.” Willa moved up the steps.
Rebecca took Daniel’s hand, and he grasped the railing and slowly made his way up the stairway. He stopped and looked back at Dusty’s cottage. “Where do you think he is now?”
“Oh,” Rebecca said, the word escaping as if someone had thumped her chest. “I don’t know.” She thought a moment. “Do you think anyone told him about Jesus?”
“Probably not. He was a blackfella.”
“But . . . maybe someone did,” Rebecca said weakly.
“Maybe.”
Dr. Walker bandaged Daniel’s leg. “You’re a lucky one. It was a clean entrance and exit. Didn’t hit the bone. And the damage to the muscle is slight.” He straightened and smiled. “That ought to see you for a while.”
“Thank you, Doctor,” Willa said.
Daniel sat back on the sofa. “You better have a look at Woodman. He got hit in the arm.”
“Right. I had a quick look at him when I first got ’ere. Doesn’t look too bad.”
“Thank you for all your help, Doctor,” Willa said.
“And for getting here so quickly,” Rebecca added.
“That’s what I get paid for.” The doctor smiled and closed his bag, then placed his hat on his head and ambled toward the door. “Told Woodman to wait for me on the porch. I’ll see to him there.”
While Willa accompanied the doctor to the front door, Rebecca sat on the sofa beside Daniel. She took his hand in hers. “Now, are you going to tell me what this is all about? Seems we ought to know—people are getting killed.” Rebecca’s voice sounded tight and grew higher with each word. “It’s bad, isn’t it?”
Daniel took a deep breath. He didn’t want to tell Rebecca about his dealings with Marshal, but there was no way to avoid it. Now she’d know how foolish he’d been. “I made a deal with Marshal. He loaned me what we needed so we could get back on our feet. I explained that it would take me a bit of time to come up with the cash to repay the loan. I thought he was all right with that. Seems he’s not.”
Daniel stopped as the rustle of skirts announced Willa’s return. She stood in the doorway. “Go ahead, son. It’s time we heard the truth. All of it.”
Callie stepped to the doorway. “I have tea, mum. Would ya like it in ’ere?”
“Yes. Thank you. Just set it on the table.”
Callie moved silently into the room and set the tea tray on the parlor table in front of the sofa. She straightened and walked to the doorway but remained in the room.
Daniel glanced at her.
“Can I stay? Dusty was a friend.”
“You might as well. What I have to say will affect you too.” He looked at his mother and could have wilted under her reproving gaze. He cleared his throat. “Well, as I was saying, I thought I’d have time to raise the money, but he insists on being paid the balance immediately.”
“Is that why those horrible men came here before?”
“Yes. I went to the bank that day and paid them some of what I owed, but . . .” Daniel glanced at Callie. “It wasn’t enough.”
“I’m sure if you speak to Mr. Marshal, he’ll—”
“No. He’s the one who ordered those blokes to hang Dusty. Course, he didn’t know who Dusty was. I figure they were just supposed to pick someone.”
Willa moved to the window. With her hand resting against the hollow of her neck, she gazed outside. “So what shall we do?” She turned to Daniel. “Is there anything we can sell in order to pay Mr. Marshal?”
“No. Nothing we have is worth enough. And he’s not going to wait until I can get the cattle south to sell.”
Rebecca faced her husband. “Daniel, how could you have gotten involved with a man like that?”
“I didn’t think I had a choice. It was get the money or lose Douloo. Now . . . well now, it’s clear I should have found another way.”
“You didn’t see that he was evil?”
“Sometimes it’s not so easy to spot it in a man.” Daniel started to lean forward, but the pain in his leg stopped him. “I knew better.” He glanced at his mother. “Paul said it, eh? In the book of Romans. ‘For the good that I would I do not: but the evil which I would not, that I do.’” He felt the apostle’s shame and frustration. His eyes moved to Rebecca. “I’m sorry, luv. I’m vile. I wish I could undo it, but I can’t.”
Rebecca rested a hand on his arm. “I know you would. And I know that when you decided to borrow from Mr. Marshal, you were doing what you thought was best.”
Daniel took Rebecca’s hand and kissed it, then pressed it to his cheek. “I don’t deserve you.” He glanced at Callie and then looked at his mother. “All this is my fault.”
“It’s not,” Rebecca said. “How could you have known? How does anyone explain people who are so vicious?”
“Men been killin’ blacks long as I can remember.” Callie’s voice was hard.
The weight of his guilt building, Daniel looked at Callie. There was nothing he could say. She was right.
Callie rocked from one foot to the other. “It’s easy ta kill a black man. No one cares when a blackfella’s murdered. Figure there are some who won’t be content ’til there’s no blacks left.”
“Most folks don’t feel that way.” Daniel offered what he hoped was an encouraging smile. “You’re family to us. You know that, don’t you?”
Callie didn’t answer right away.
“You can’t think we’re like those men,” Rebecca said.
“No. I don’t think yer like that, but . . .” Her dark eyes settled on Daniel. “Dusty would be ’ere if ya’d done roight.”
“That’s not fair, Callie.” Rebecca’s voice was plaintive. “Daniel couldn’t have known the consequences.”
“Maybe so, but it’s always us blacks that pay for whites’ mistakes. Ya don’t see us as bein’ the same, so ya don’t give it no thought.”
“We’ve treated you fairly.” Rebecca stepped close to Callie. “Don’t you remember the day I first came? Right off I asked you to join me for breakfast and a visit.”
Callie pushed frizzy hair away from her face. “No, mum, ya asked me ta sit and listen while ya had yer breakfast. Ya didn’t ask me ta join ya.”
An expression of surprise crossed Rebecca’s face. She pressed her hand against her mouth. “Oh. I did do that. I’m sorry.”
“No need.”
“Sometimes we don’t see things as clearly as we should,” Daniel said.
Callie nodd
ed. “I’ll see ta Woodman. The doctor might need some help, eh?” With that, she left the room.
The parlor turned quiet.
Rebecca sat on the sofa beside Daniel.
“What about Joseph? Is he in danger?” Willa asked.
Daniel stared at the floor. “Yeah.”
Rebecca slowly pushed away from the kitchen table. “I’m feeling the weight of this child today.” She picked up her half-eaten bowl of oatmeal.
“’Ere, let me have that.” Daniel took the bowl and limped to the sink, where he set it on the counter. “Not hungry this morning?”
“I’ve no room for food,” Rebecca said with a crooked smile, glancing at her rounded stomach.
“Won’t be long now, mum,” Lily said with a wide grin. “We’ll ’ave us a bybie ’ere soon, eh?” She scraped the leftover cereal into a slop bucket.
“I hope you’re right,” Rebecca said, returning to her chair. “I’d say it’s time this child met the family.”
Joseph banged his spoon against his cereal bowl, and Willa gently placed a hand over his to quiet him. “I dare say, I can scarcely wait to hold the little one in my arms.”
Daniel grabbed his hat off a hook alongside the back door. “I better get to town. I’ll speak to Charles Oxley like we talked about.” Just the thought of meeting with the banker made him feel like he had grit between his teeth. “Doubt it’ll do any good though.”
“I realize it’s a difficult undertaking, but you must make the effort,” Willa said.
“Right.”
“You’re still limping,” Willa said. “Dr. Walker told you to stay put for a couple of weeks.”
“My leg’s better. A week of rest did the trick.” He settled his hat on his head.
The day of Dusty’s death, Daniel had agreed to speak to Mr. Oxley; again it seemed the only reasonable thing to do. Now, given time to think on it, he wished he hadn’t promised to give the banker another try. He could already feel the humiliation that would come with the meeting.
“You know he’ll make me squirm,” Daniel said.
“He may at that,” Willa said. “But there’s no way around it.”