The Good Woman of Renmark

by Darry Fraser

  Bert shrugged. ‘Wharf master here, he and Mr Finn were sorta mates, said Mr Finn always let him know what he was doin’, where he was goin’. Maybe he left word.’

  Sam held his head in both hands a moment. ‘Wharf master. Right.’

  ‘Somethin’ else.’ Bert shifted on the log. ‘The bushfire never come up past where the boat went down. From the skippers steamin’ through afterwards, they reckon it looks like the explosion set off a fire that burned back on the big one on that side of the river. Killed it. Other side burned itself out. Everything back to normal.’ He caught Sam’s eye. ‘Almost.’

  Back to normal. Sam hands curled on his knees. ‘Wharf master is where?’

  Thumbing over his shoulder, Bert said, ‘It’s late in the day for someone mannin’ it, but it’s that hut up there.’

  Sam stood, adjusted his hat. ‘Thanks. I’ll head that way.’

  Bert got to his feet. ‘Lucy liked Miss Maggie. I didn’t know her much but—I dunno—if you need anythin’ else …’

  Sam only nodded; the lump in his throat was too big for words to get around. Bucky bumped his leg as Sam left Bert at the smoko fire. Heading for the hut, one leaden foot after the other and the dog by his side, Sam’s heart was heavy with things he couldn’t grasp, couldn’t comprehend.

  Twenty

  Sam tied Pie outside the wharf master’s hut. When he opened the door, the dog followed him in, and he saw no reason to stop him. The way Bucky loped around the place made him seem at home with everybody.

  The man bending over the desk looked up briefly. ‘Afternoon. Do for ye?’ Bushy eyebrows rose over a pair of wire-rimmed spectacles and pale brown eyes blinked as if focusing. The line where the man’s hat had been still creased his thin hair, and a kerchief was tied at his neck. One of his hands held open a big ledger book.

  Sam snatched off his own hat and ruffled his hair hard. ‘Afternoon. I, ah, am looking for someone who’s gone missing. Heard she might’ve got on board a steamer for downriver.’

  The man stared at him, his hand still resting on the open page of his ledger. ‘And you are?’

  ‘Sam Taylor. My friend’s family is worried for her. O’Rourke, they are, from up Echuca way.’ The man gave no indication he’d heard of that name. ‘Though they were livin’ here at Renmark till a year and a half back, maybe more,’ Sam added. ‘Irrigation with Mr Chaffey.’

  ‘Was all irrigation here, till it went belly up. Hope they got their wages. Many didn’t.’

  Distracted from his main task, Sam said, ‘From Mr Chaffey? Looks like they’re doing all right at that Olivewood place.’

  ‘Different brother. George with his brother William went bankrupt. On Olivewood, that’s their younger brother Mr Charles Chaffey, and his wife, Mrs Ella.’ The man still leaned on his ledger.

  ‘Right.’ That was the Chaffey family tree then. No help to Sam at present. Bucky shuffled at his feet, which reminded him to stay on track. ‘So, would you know if a passenger took a fare downriver?’

  The man straightened up and patted the open page. ‘You know we lost a boat not long back?’

  Sam nodded. ‘The Lady Goodnight. That’s the boat some say my friend might have boarded.’

  The man sniffed, wiping a hand over his nose and mouth. ‘Aye. Mate o’ mine skippered the boat. He’s gone.’

  ‘I knew him. Mr. Finn.’

  ‘That’s him, lad.’ He looked resigned to having to speak the truth.

  Sam already knew there was a possibility Maggie might be dead, but he still needed to know for sure that she had got on that boat.

  Mr Cutler went on. ‘Sure enough, a young lady did get on board.’ He flicked back the pages of his ledger until he found what he was looking for. Looking at Sam, he asked, ‘What name?’

  ‘Maggie O’Rourke.’ As he said it, Sam’s breath stopped, his heart thudded. He steeled himself with fists at his side, one clutching his hat.

  A pause hung in the air as the man blinked at the note stuck in his book. Sam couldn’t breathe. The bushy eyebrows rose. ‘That’s not the name of the young miss I have here.’

  Sam was rigid. ‘Not O’Rourke?’ Bucky nudged him, leaned against his leg.

  ‘No, lad.’

  Sam’s shoulders dropped. Not O’Rourke. Jesus. Jesus. It wasn’t her. Jesus. The breath he’d been holding shot out. If he’d been a crying man, he would have blubbered on the floor. It wasn’t her. He reached down to scratch Bucky’s ears. Could have hugged the dog instead, but that would look strange. His relief was so great he wanted to sing. Have a drink and sing.

  The man slumped to his chair. ‘Sad business, all the same. The captain, his engineer. This lassie.’ He tapped her name in his book.

  Sam glanced over, read the name, Miss Ellie Lorkin. Wasn’t Maggie, that’s all that mattered. He looked up and noticed the red rims of the wharf master’s eyes and the firmly set line of his mouth. ‘Yes, bad business,’ he said and turned to go. ‘Thank you.’

  ‘Funny thing, though,’ the man said. ‘Few days back, maybe a week, a young fella walked into town from out the scrub, bit worse for wear. Said he’d seen the boat just other side of Lyrup. Reckoned the girl was on the riverbank, not on the boat. Chances are …’ He shrugged. ‘But out here, even close to the towns and the like, if she got herself lost she might not have survived a walk. And the fire might have got her, too. Was a big ’un down that way.’

  Sam nodded, keen to be gone. If Maggie hadn’t been on that boat, where the hell was he gonna start to look for her? Bucky shuffled again and stared up at Sam but hadn’t moved from the desk.

  The wharf master laced his hands over the ledger and seemed to want to talk. ‘Me ol’ mate Captain Finn didn’t have no relatives. I had to telegram his boss, Mr MacHenry, who’s up Swan Hill way. He come here and he and his crew waited to get word of the bushfire before they could go downriver, find where it blew up. That was bad enough. Then I writ a letter to the engineer’s folk somewhere down Victoria to let them know. But I dunno who to write to for the lassie.’ He shook his head. ‘Got kids meself. Wouldna like to lose one, and never hear they were lost.’

  ‘Aye.’ Sam, a weight in his chest, felt the last of the day’s heat trapped inside the hut. ‘I’m sorry for your friends, and for the girl.’ He opened the door. ‘Maybe she’s alive.’ He stood in the doorway and the late afternoon air breezed by him. He looked out over the river to the scrub on the other side. Not likely.

  ‘No way of knowin’ unless she walks in somewhere.’ The man took in a deep breath. ‘Poor soul.’

  Sam hung his head. How to find out what he needed to know? ‘So how far is this Lyrup place?’

  ‘You’ll see a signpost. About nine mile by road. But the river’s up a bit and ye’d have to flag down a steamer to take ye across. One took off for there yest’dy, ye’ll catch that one. Or ’nother one due to leave later today. Why you wanna know about Lyrup?’

  ‘I might get on down to where the boat blew up. Pay my respects, for me and for the O’Rourke family in Echuca. We all knew Mr Finn. Might just get on and camp somewhere down that way.’

  ‘Nice country if you like scrub. Nice views of the river on the way if you like peace and quiet.’

  Sam figured that would suit him well. ‘I do.’

  He hadn’t been thinking anything. He hadn’t intended to find any rotgut. But he had, and found it easy. He handed over two shillings for a mottled brown bottle with a cork in it. Swore to himself the rum would just take the edge off his worry as soon as he found a quiet site to camp, away from the town. For sure as hell, when it came upon him, he’d sing at the top of his lungs. Some folk back home in Bendigo, and then in Echuca, hadn’t been overjoyed by his strong tenor—not in the middle of the night on the way home from the pub, that was for sure.

  Riding out of town, with Bucky running alongside, Sam wasn’t real sure where he was going. The ride would give him a chance to think. Or not. How could a man think on what to do when he had no information?
<
br />   Night was descending, and the sun had sunk low. Clouds on the horizon glowed yellow then a deep vermillion, and soon the moon would begin its rise over a clear sky. He estimated he was a few miles out of Renmark, maybe seven, eight. He’d followed the road around cliffs on the river for some time before deciding he should stop and check for that steamer he’d need to flag down. He had no idea where he was, but that didn’t matter. He needed time to let his head sort itself.

  He dismounted and, when he looked around in the fading light, he figured others had thought the same about stopping here. A log had been dragged into a small clearing and the coals of a small campfire were heaped nearby. He bent and hovered a hand over it. No warmth in the coals; long dead.

  Pie headed for a few tufts of greenery and Sam followed to tie the reins over a nearby tree. He undid the girth, removed the saddle and rifle and took them to the log. He threw his thin swag down nearby, and Bucky hunkered down with his front paws on it.

  Yep. Seemed to be the place to camp. He grabbed the bottle of rum and set it by the log. He foraged through the saddlebags for Miss Lucy’s packets and found the damper and the jerky. He shared them both with Bucky. Found a jam drop but kept that for himself. He slid to his backside and rested against the log. Bucky shuffled over to be close.

  He closed his eyes.

  Maggie. Where the hell are you?

  Twenty-one

  It was stuffy. Maggie lay there a moment, trying to think where she was. A small brick and daub dwelling. Jane’s hut. She sat up on the cot and realised she was wearing someone else’s chemise.

  Yesterday, Betsy and Jane each had an arm around her as they’d guided her towards Jane’s house. She’d felt all right, a little disoriented, and relieved, but otherwise fine.

  It wasn’t until Jane said to her, ‘My goodness, Miss Lorkin, you do look a sight. Let’s get you out of the sun at my house’ that Maggie understood perhaps she didn’t look as good as she’d hoped.

  Betsy had yelled across to Michael. ‘Bring another water jug to Mrs Thompson’s, boy.’ He’d shot off somewhere.

  Inside Jane’s house, she’d been directed to one of two chairs by a small table. Betsy, who seemed to have lost her anxiety, removed Maggie’s hat, and tried to loosen her fingers around the handle of her bag. Met with resistance, she knelt by Maggie’s knee. ‘We’ll look after it, Miss Lorkin. You must let us look after you, too.’

  Jane had poured water into a bowl and wet a flannel, wrung it out and pressed it over Maggie’s face and neck. ‘Oh dear, it’s not just dirt. I’m afraid you’ve coloured up under the sun.’

  ‘What did you say?’ Maggie asked. ‘My hearing was damaged with the blast.’

  Jane bent to her ear. ‘No matter. Now for a cool bath and a change of clothes for you.’

  Then poor Michael had been dispatched to get a wash tub and lug water for a bath. He’d enlisted the help of the Kelly gang and then all the boys had been shooed away by his mother. Betsy had then gone to get Vera Olsen.

  Jane had helped peel off Maggie’s dress and chemise. When she attempted to take the purse on its string from around her neck, Maggie stopped her.

  ‘I keep it on me all the time.’ Then wrapped in a thin towel, Maggie stepped into the shallow bath. A sigh escaped her.

  ‘You do look quite done in.’ Jane handed her a thin bar of soap. ‘Your fingernails are torn, you have lots of scrapes on your arms and legs. There’s sunburn, and your clothes are ruined, and covered in twigs and dirt and such. I can wash your hair for you too.’ She looked at Maggie’s pained face. ‘I mean, you are reasonably well despite it all, but what about food? How did you manage? Are you hungry?’

  Maggie had slipped lower in the tub. It was cramped, but she was cool and scrubbing with the soap had started to melt away the dirt. ‘Um, some people who live in the bush found me,’ she said, not wanting to elaborate in case it would cause trouble for Nara and Wadgie.

  ‘Goodness me, really? Black people?’

  ‘White people.’

  ‘In the bush? Though not surprising; this day and age I suppose there are a lot of folk in the scrub scraping out a living. It’s why the government set up these villages,’ Jane said. ‘Doesn’t appeal to everyone, though, I know. Mrs Wilson hates it here. Reckons she’d rather live in the bush. She nearly does, anyway.’

  Maggie remembered the woman and her muntry jam. ‘We had plenty of food. We ate fish, and berries.’ She wondered where Nara might be now. Knowing her, she would be watching to see that Maggie wasn’t about to be thrown into the scrub again.

  Maggie finished in the bath. She dried off and Jane handed her a chemise, then a simple day dress. By the time Vera had arrived, Maggie was sitting on a chair, sipping tea, and Jane was leaning in the open doorway.

  Vera sat opposite Maggie. ‘What a delight to see you again. What you must have been through.’ The older woman squeezed Maggie’s hand. ‘What say we look after you here for a bit then get you back to—’

  ‘You have to get up a bit closer, Vera. Miss Lorkin seems to be deaf from the blast.’ Jane had tapped both her ears.

  ‘Oh dear, that’s awful.’ Then Vera had repeated herself loudly.

  ‘That would be wonderful,’ said Maggie. ‘But I’ll continue my journey downriver—if I can bear to step foot on another boat.’

  ‘Of course. Such an ordeal. Those poor men.’ Vera pressed her lips together a moment, then leaning closer said, ‘As soon as we heard word of the explosion, some of the men searched but only found the remains of the boat. No bodies.’ She had then looked as if she shouldn’t continue, but she did. ‘That was one reason why no one searched for you. Everyone assumed you were dead, too.’

  ‘Oh, I see.’ Maggie hadn’t been sure if she was disappointed or not. Her brain had whirred. No one looked for you. But as soon as word got back to Renmark that she was alive, Maggie was certain someone would come looking for her—that awful man, or the police. In that case she’d better get on with things; no time to dilly-dally. ‘I would be glad to buy a dress, and some under-clothes. My boots should still be good. I’d get on the first steamer to offer me passage. I only ask that if anyone from Renmark comes here after me, that you don’t tell them I’m here, or when I go, my whereabouts.’

  Vera had frowned. ‘But my dear, if you have left loved ones worrying—’

  ‘No one. There was an unsavoury character who’d made unwanted advances. I wanted to get away quickly.’ Had she told a lie? Not really. Just omitted the ‘I killed him’ part.

  Jane nodded. ‘I’m sorry to hear that,’ she’d said firmly. ‘And you are quite right to ask our protection.’

  Vera had looked stern. ‘Now, listen to me, both of you. I think we should let someone know that Miss Lorkin is in fact alive and well.’

  Jane had pushed off the doorjamb. ‘Unless someone rides or walks to Renmark, we can’t get word to anyone. The Pearl has just left for upriver, and I don’t know what boats might be steaming back this way.’

  Vera capitulated. ‘You’re right for the moment.’ She looked at Maggie. ‘If you would stay with Jane, as we have no quarters for single women here, you’ll be quite safe until you can be on your way.’

  Now Maggie remembered that Vera had enunciated her last few words quite clearly. Lying on the cot, she determined to do just that—be on her way. She fumbled to get her feet on the floor, then reached for the dress Jane had given her.

  She was shrugging into it as the door opened and Jane looked in. ‘You’re awake, good. You’ve slept most of the day again, and I was beginning to get worried. I have tea when you’re ready, and I’ll help you to the privy.’ She plonked two steaming cups on the table and went to help button Maggie’s dress. ‘Do you feel well enough to get out and about?’ she asked, her voice raised.

  ‘Of course. I think.’

  ‘Get that into you, then,’ she nodded at the tea, ‘and I’ve found some lanolin to help with the sunburn. Your clothes are drying off out the back and won’t take
a jiffy. But you’re welcome to that dress. You might need it for your new ventures.’

  Maggie reached for her boots, and although without her hose at present, she slipped her feet in and began to lace. ‘Thank you, but won’t you need it?’

  ‘I’m very good with my sewing needle. I make a lot of things for the children out of the flour sacks and such. Sometimes, there’s enough left over to save and I should have a dress soon enough. Nothing fancy, mind. I’ll find more fabric to make a better one when I can.’ She gave a little laugh then sighed. ‘With Teddy gone, I don’t have money to buy new when the trading boats come.’

  Maggie remembered the Teddy Thompson that Mr Bentley had not been so happy about. She stared at Jane. ‘The settlement houses are for married men with families, and single men only, aren’t they? How will you manage?’

  Jane’s cheeks coloured. ‘I’m allowed to stay for a little while. But soon I will have to go to a women’s refuge home somewhere. I will have to apply for a divorce.’ Her voice cracked but she remained steadfast.

  Maggie’s mouth dropped open. ‘Divorce? Can you even hope for such a thing? I thought only a man could do so.’

  ‘That is why I was so interested in your plan.’ Jane looked over her shoulder as if checking that no one else could hear and then, close to Maggie’s ear, said, ‘It seems that soon it will be law that I can apply to a magistrate if I have been deserted. Rather, if I can prove I have been deserted.’ She shook a little. ‘But until the law is passed, I have to prove he’s been an adulterer and that I’ve been viciously beaten numerous times and then deserted. Except for the last bit, nothing of the sort has happened. Seems a lot for me to try to prove, when all he would have to do to divorce me is to cite my adultery. Not that I have been an adulterer,’ she was quick to add. ‘It seems unfair that I would’ve had to suffer all of that to obtain a divorce, when he needed only to suffer a blow to his ego. At least I can be spared all those horrible things when this new law takes effect.’