by Darry Fraser
She went to the door and looked out across the river. She wondered about Nara and Wadgie, and about the folk at Olivewood—Mr and Mrs Chaffey and the children, Lucy who worked at the house with her. About Bucky, the happy-go-lucky dog who rarely left her side. Would she ever see any of them again? Sorrow sneaked into her heart, but there was nothing to do about it.
Glancing up and down river, nothing seemed amiss, yet the smell of wood smoke hung in the air. Just as she was about to search for some flour and dried fruit, she heard the steam engine drop, and the paddle-wheeler slowed in response.
Where were they? Maggie couldn’t see a landing on either side of the river. Perhaps they were pulling in for the night, but it seemed too early for that. Pressing a hand to her thumping heart, she took a deep breath. She’s been hoping they’d be a lot further downriver before stopping. She would go to Captain Finn right now and find out what was happening. If they were stopping here, she guessed it would be safe enough. No point worrying needlessly. She was sure no one from Renmark would be following her but it was still too close for her liking.
At the wheelhouse, only a step or two from the galley, she looked out over the silent river. ‘Are we stopping for the night, Mr Finn?’ she asked when she got to the wheel. Mr Bentley was there with him.
‘We are, miss. Heard a grumble or such from the engine, and our old Lady G doesn’t usually have grumbles. We’ll shut her down here in this neat little tie-up and see what’s what.’ He adjusted his hat, glanced at Mr Bentley, who nodded. ‘’Course, the other thing is, I reckon the smoke we can smell might be a bushfire ahead. Won’t do us any good trying to go past that.’
He unrolled a chart, and he and Bentley gazed at it. ‘We’re here, Johnny,’ he said and tapped a tight curve. ‘Good a place as any. Let’s get to that engine.’ He looked back at Maggie. ‘Now, Miss Lorkin, not to alarm you, but it’s best you get onto land while we work out what to do.’
Maggie was about to object when the sombre look on the captain’s face stopped her.
‘Nothing to worry about,’ he went on. ‘We’ve tied up to a strong tree, so we can pull her in a bit closer, get you off quick smart. You might get your feet a little wet but in this weather you should dry out soon enough.’ His tone brooked no resistance. ‘So gather your bag, miss, and Bentley will get you organised.’
Her heart sank. More waiting, more worrying.
Captain Finn shrugged, not mistaking her dismay. ‘I hope it’s nothing and we can get on our way as soon as we know it’s safe. But it’s best you’re off the boat.’ He turned away and let his hands rest on the great steering wheel.
Bentley said, ‘Once I get Miss Lorkin on land, Cap’n, I can scout up ahead on foot a few mile if you want, check to see which way the fire’s goin’.’
Captain Finn was grim. ‘I don’t like the sound of that. We’ll have to set up a watch for the night, is all. If we can fix the engine, we’ll turn back to Renmark tomorrow.’
Dear God in heaven—what are the chances? ‘Mr Finn, do we have to turn back if there’s a bushfire?’ she asked.
He nodded. ‘If it’s a bad ’un and it’s whipped up the wind, it’ll likely jump the river to the other side. Sparks and embers land on the boat, and we go up in smoke too. No hope getting out alive.’
‘But—if you can’t fix the boat?’
‘We’d need to be towed back to Renmark, and no one likes doin’ that on this river. Even if another boat is following us and capable of it, we’ve no way of knowing. If there’s a bushfire comin’ this way, if we can’t fix the engine, we must abandon the boat and walk back fast, at least to Lyrup.’
‘I don’t understand.’
He turned back to her. ‘Otherwise we would be trapped here,’ he all but snapped. His eyes were red-rimmed, and the frown deepened. ‘My life’s been on this old Lady Goodnight,’ he said finally, the snap gone.
‘Miss Lorkin,’ Bentley said softly. ‘If we try to run the boat with a bad part, the boiler will blow and we’ll all be killed. So it’s best we do like the cap’n says and get you off the boat. Then we’ll look at the engine. Might be nothin’. We might be back under way in no time. But if a bushfire is headin’ this way, we won’t be goin’ downriver.’
Horrified now, Maggie looked from the captain to Mr Bentley, but their faces were closed. ‘Of course. I’m sorry to sound so dense. I’ll get my bag.’
She knew that if she was off the boat on the bank and there was an explosion, she would be safe. Her heartbeat sped up again. Had it slowed at all since fleeing Olivewood the other day?
‘Hurry along now, miss,’ the captain said, his usual calm having returned.
Maggie fled to her cabin. She rushed to stuff her few things back into her bag: her little sewing kit, the now crumpled letter to Sam, her handkerchief, her hat, and the pinafore. She knew her savings were safe, snug against her chest. Back on deck, she felt the boat move as the captain and Mr Bentley drew on the mooring rope.
She studied the bank. Spindly saplings were scattered here and there between sturdier trees, which at least would offer shade. Bark and leaf litter, tinder-dry, carpeted the dusty bank, bare of any green. The early afternoon sun had lost none of its bite, so she would find a comfortable place to sit and wait.
Bentley beckoned her to the side of the boat closest to the land. ‘Right you are, now miss. Let’s get you—’
A voice from the bank cut across him. ‘Oi there, aboard the boat. Have ye got room for a passenger?’
Bentley turned, and Mr Finn straightened to stare. Slipping and sliding down the bank, cut away by falling tides and erosion, a slender man holding his hat got to the edge of the water.
‘Tried walkin’ my way down along the river,’ he called, ‘but I reckon there’s a nasty fire gallopin’ this way. Can ye smell it? I didn’t want to go too much further in case I couldn’t get ’round it. If you’ve a mind, you need to turn about and get back to Renmark. Be grateful for a lift.’ At their blank stares, he said, ‘Y’are turning back, ain’t ye?’
Mr Finn sighed. ‘Damn and blast,’ he said under his breath. ‘Stay where y’are, lad,’ he called. ‘Boat’s disabled.’
The man clambered into the shallows. ‘I can work for me passage. Ah, you’re Cap’n Finn. I met you—’
‘Stay on the bank,’ Mr Finn said sharply.
‘Maybe I can help. Name’s Thompson. Um, been an engineer.’
‘So’s Mr Bentley, here. Won’t do any good if we don’t have parts for repairs.’
‘Shit, Cap’n. Not good.’ Thompson spotted Maggie. ‘Beg pardon, missus.’
The captain nodded in Maggie’s direction. ‘Miss Lorkin is our passenger.’
Thompson snatched off his hat, and gave Maggie a nod and a smile, his eyes lighting up. ‘Miss Lorkin.’
Maggie nodded back, her hackles up at that smile. Something rang a bell at his name but she couldn’t grasp the thought.
Bentley eyed the man standing in the water. ‘No swag or nothin’?’ he asked gruffly. ‘Leave that behind for the missus, didja?’
‘Best I did, Mr Bentley. I dint need it, used to sleepin’ rough. Me back’s still good, and I don’t drink. Can work up a storm.’
‘Cap’n,’ Bentley said, not seeming to share the man’s enthusiasm. ‘What say we ask Thompson here to get to Lyrup on foot and send word back upriver for help.’
Thompson blanched. ‘We fix the boat and we can sail right past Lyrup, straight on to Renmark.’
Captain Finn looked him over. ‘You get us some help and send riders back with horses. We’d pay you once you get back.’
‘Ye not taking me on board?’
‘No one but me and Mr Bentley will be on board. We’re going to set Miss Lorkin here on the bank, under a nice shady tree, while we work. But before we do that, we’ll bag up some vittles for you to take. Then you can be on your way.’ Captain Finn glanced at Maggie.
She dropped her bag and ran to the galley, grabbing beef jerky, a hunk of day-ol
d damper, and a handful of sweet biscuits she’d made and stashed in a tin. She wrapped it all in the first clean rag she found. Raised voices reached her but she didn’t take too much notice. Surely Mr Thompson would help them by going on, on foot. Rushing back on deck, Maggie handed the parcel to Mr Bentley. He threw it to Thompson, who was still at water’s edge. Scooping up her own bag, she went to the rail of the boat.
‘You’ll be doing us a service, lad,’ Captain Finn said, not unkindly. ‘Now, on your way so we can get Miss Lorkin settled and we can get on with it.’
Smoke wafted on the breeze. Thompson clutched the bundle and backed away from the water. He stumbled, righted himself. ‘I’ll get help.’ He stood a moment as if wondering what had just happened. Then he turned and stomped back up the bank and disappeared into the scrub.
‘He weren’t no engineer’s boot,’ Bentley said quietly. ‘He’ll follow the river for water, so he won’t die o’ thirst. No point relyin’ on him. He’s a few days walk out of Lyrup. But he won’t go there.’
‘Why won’t he?’ Maggie demanded. ‘You’ve given him food—’
‘We seen him a time or two before when we’ve dropped off goods,’ he said. ‘Teddy Thompson. Always lookin’ for a free ride. He abandoned his missus at Lyrup. He’ll go on to Renmark before he gets us help, and that’s half a day’s walk further on if he dodges the settlement.’
Teddy Thompson. Maggie remembered it was Jane’s husband’s name. ‘But he’d put that aside to get help, wouldn’t he?’
‘I don’t have much faith. But he’ll survive if he’s as smart as he thinks he is. Maybe then he’ll figure he can raise the alarm.’
Maggie wondered if Mr Finn thought it might be too late. Bewildered, she stared at him. ‘What do—’
‘He could be three and a half days or more walk out of Renmark in this weather,’ Captain Finn said, as if she hadn’t spoken. He looked skywards. ‘We’ll take four-hour watches tonight after we check the boat. Fixed or not, if the smoke gets worse, we head off on foot to go back.’
Maggie held her breath. Go back? Oh, dear God, please not. Either to walk or to sail back to Lyrup meant she was too close to Renmark. When she breathed out, a great fatigue hit and her shoulders slumped and her head dizzied for a moment. Her bag was heavy in her arms and she sagged against the rail.
Mr Bentley was speaking with the captain, but she could barely hear what they were saying.
‘Could be a leaking pin …’
‘… Steam pressure. But I wouldn’t …’
‘… Safety valve? Looked all right when …’
‘… Gettin’ on, now, the old girl …’
A breeze tickled, and once again the smell of smoke drifted by her. Now it seemed a menace, but Maggie was too tired for its threat. Sliding to the floor of the deck, she let another great sigh escape. Resting her head, she closed her eyes, gathering some strength, she hoped. Seemed for only a minute …
‘Come on, miss. On your feet. I’ll take you up the bank a-ways and leave you with this,’ Bentley said, her mattress draped over one shoulder. He held out his free hand. ‘We might have to sleep out in the open, but the cap’n and me have to work while we can still see before dark.’
As she gripped his hand to get up, the rough callused palm enfolded hers and the confident grip heartened her. Oh, but she was tired. As soon as she was on firm ground, she’d have a sleep. Just a little one.
Mr Bentley guided her to the very top of the bank, threw her thin mattress down and waited until she’d sat. ‘Now,’ he said. ‘You pick up any thicker smell of smoke, yell out, miss.’
‘I will.’ She watched him return to the boat, and without being careful of how she landed, she fell on her back and was soundly asleep before she knew it.
‘Get out,’ a voice roared. ‘Juuump!’
Then the loudest sound in the world ripped Maggie’s eardrums and ricocheted inside her head so hard she thought it would burst. She bolted upright. Her hands flew to cover her ears, but it was too late—the thunderous boom banged through her head and chest and shook her down to her feet.
The earth shuddered. Another explosion rent the air. Ducking then, her forearm shielding her face, she squinted in stunned disbelief as bits and pieces of the Lady Goodnight flung high into the air and then dropped to the water. Debris and shrapnel sliced thin saplings. Chunks of rotting gum flew into the air. Jagged shards rained down, clunked nearby or thudded painfully into her. She screamed, clamoured to get out of the way. She dashed for the mattress, pulling it over her head, and took cover behind a big gum tree. She dropped to her backside, curled into the mattress and waited, wincing as bolts and chunks of metal hurtled to the ground around her. Then it seemed to fall silent and she dared breathe again.
She looked out, unfurled the mattress and sat up. The hull and the wheelhouse were sinking fast. The deck, all that was left of it, poked up out of the water, spun weakly in a circle in the middle of the river. Embers died around it.
The captain and Mr Bentley must have floated the boat out—
Maggie blinked, clearing her eyes. A man clung to the deck then he staggered up, blackened, seared and bleeding. He clawed at his throat, seeming to gasp for breath. He spun once, blindly. Then he steadied and deliberately plunged into the water. The deck followed him, and both slipped silently beneath the surface.
She sucked in her breath as the horror descended. Burned so badly he preferred to drown … Which man was it? Which man? Where’s the other man? Dead? Must be dead. Dear God. Maggie couldn’t shout. No voice.
Bubbles rose up from the deep. Then the denuded body floated up, face down, and drifted away.
Shaking, she tried to stand, but her legs came out from under her. A yelp as she hit the ground. But she didn’t hear a sound. Didn’t hear her own voice … Nothing but the ringing in her ears. Deaf.
In a panic, she patted her ears, willing them to wake up, to hear again. She tried to speak, tried to make a noise she might hear. Clapped her hands. Nothing.
Scurrying on the mattress, she groped for her bag, slung it across her shoulder and clutched it. Waited. Shook. Looked about her and saw nothing other than the silent bush, a wide, serene river and the expanse of bright blue sky. Heard nothing. Infuriating!
A wisp of smoke curled close to the edge of the mattress. She slithered down on her backside and, with her heel, stomped on its source. Spun around on the mattress. Other sparks? Oh God, in this crackling drought, the place is set to ignite. Sparks there. And there. Heaven help me.
Maggie clambered upright, wobbly, but at least on her feet. Holding her dress out of the way, she stomped on embers she found close by. Stomped on yet more, and more.
There’s too many.
Breathless, she held her bag tight against her chest. Standing for a moment in her silent world, she cast around. Too many sparks. Too many wisps of smoke.
Run.
The ringing in her ears had come down a notch. All Maggie could hear now was her thudding heartbeat inside her head as her feet pounded over the hard earth. She couldn’t hear herself huffing and puffing as she ran. She stumbled and fell, her hands flung out, scraping the dirt. Scrambling to her feet, she ran on again. Nothing mattered as long as she could see the river. If she decided to stop, she would drink. She’d be able to follow it to safety. Perhaps if there was time, she’d wash off the sweat and the dust. Clean the scratches on her face that had stung as she’d ploughed through the scrub.
Oh God, what if I’m following some offshoot stream and get lost good and proper?
No. No. No. Veering closer to the bank, she stopped a minute, doubling over as she caught her breath. She stared at the vast expanse of slow-moving water winding its way peacefully away from her. Moody, calm, and barely a ripple, she knew she was on the Murray. It was home. It was her way home. It would take her home. Perhaps the long way around, but it would. It would set her down at Murray Bridge and then she’d find a way to get to Echuca from there.
Home. Then
she snivelled. Mairead O’Rourke, don’t you dare snivel.
Her eyes squeezed shut and her face scrunched. Her throat hurt because tears wouldn’t come. She thought of good, kind Captain Finn. And Mr Bentley …
Don’t you dare snivel. You get on and make sure you stay alive. No time for snivelling.
Letting her sobs go, and gulping in air, she set off again. Oh, if only Bucky was here.
The smell of smoke was still strong, and it had freshened since she’d run from the explosion. Its stench was in her nostrils, tickled her throat, but it goaded her to run on. God, how far could she go before she’d fall to her knees, exhausted? Could she even outrun a fire? And sleep—how would that even be possible with a fire on her heels? She thought she’d been tired earlier—no time for tired now.
Stumbled. Would her boots hold out? Her bag thumped as she ran. Clamping it against her body, she felt her savings cache rub her chest. If she got out of the bush, she’d be safe with the little money she had. Finding her stride, she ran on.
Her dress caught on a stiff branch jutting out from a fallen log and, yanked to a sudden halt, she crashed backwards. A great rent had entangled itself and she struggled, trying to wrench it free. No good. Tried coaxing it free instead. Fumbled. No good. No good. Enraged, she jerked, and it tore away completely. She threw the shredded fabric aside, disgusted. Damn and bother. Now I need a new dress.
She staggered on again. Thin twigs and spindly branches whipped her face, her cheeks, until she raised her forearm to fend them off.
No idea how far she’d come … Her feet slowed. Her legs felt like Lucy’s jellies had looked: wobbly and not set properly. Oh dear, why am I thinking of Lucy’s jellies? Get to the water’s edge, girl. A boat might come. Sit and wait. In the dark? Just get to the water’s edge.