The Good Woman of Renmark

by Darry Fraser

  Maggie shook her head, frowning. ‘I had no idea.’ It was bewildering. Once the world had looked a safe place, but now it was likely never to feel that way for her again. Once it had looked a safe place … when she’d been living with her family.

  ‘And why would you have any idea? I’ve had to look at what is available to me now and not scurry about in terror for myself like poor Betsy has had to do, her husband gone as well.’

  ‘Betsy?’ Maggie had never known any abandoned women, and now she knew two.

  ‘Yes. Her husband went to Renmark on a steamer and never came back. Left her with the children. I suppose I should be grateful now that I wasn’t lucky enough to have had a family. How does anyone cope? So I hope it becomes law soon. I want to be able to fend for myself, and not be frightened every day for my life, or for my future. I might try and go downriver like you.’

  ‘But why not stay here, where it seems safe?’ Maggie asked. ‘Where there are people who know you, and a number of single men, one of whom might one day—’

  ‘Oh,’ Jane said dismissively. ‘There are plenty of single men, and some lining up, I might add. But I am freshly abandoned, so say the ladies, and it would be unseemly to attract attention as I’m still married. So I’m untouchable. Thankfully, if you know what I mean. I will never earn my keep on my back, though I know some poor women must.’ She dusted down her dress, missing the bloom of colour on Maggie’s cheeks. ‘You see, I can’t earn wages here, only earn like for like. For example, labour in exchange for food, and for lodgings in this house for a little while longer. This is a communalistic village, which means we’re supposed to share everything we produce. We have a committee and a chairman to run the place but almost everyone believes the scheme has failed. So I must go.’

  What sort of life would Jane have? What sort of life would Maggie, herself, have?

  Jane gave a laugh. ‘Don’t look so worried. My family would say, “we told you so”, and if I can’t find refuge or a job, I’m sure they would take me back. Embarrassing for them—and for me, I suppose—but I know I’d have at least that. I have known of some women whose families did not want them back.’

  Maggie thought of her own family. Would they even know she’d left Renmark? And once they found out what had happened …

  Jane took a chair at the table. ‘You got me thinking the other day. If I can be strong, and work and keep myself, I will be all right.’ She frowned. ‘It’s just, I haven’t worked out the old-age part of the plan, yet.’

  Maggie’s ears rang, but she’d heard that. ‘Neither have I,’ she said, and a short laugh followed. ‘Perhaps a plan will come when the journey begins.’

  ‘So,’ Jane asked tentatively. ‘You don’t have a story like mine?’

  Finding words hard to garner, Maggie shook her head.

  ‘No beau, no courting man anywhere?’

  ‘There was someone ages ago, but I thought he wanted too much from me.’

  What had Sam wanted again? Just the normal things. Had he ever said he didn’t want her to work, or to do the things she wanted to do? She shook her head more at herself than anything. Where had her thinking got so muddled up, believing he would tie her to the kitchen and to the cradle?

  He didn’t have to say anything, anyway. It was very much frowned upon for a married woman to take a job outside the home. And that brought her back to not wanting to be married.

  Well, not yet.

  Where had that come from?

  But her brother wasn’t like that—insisting that his new wife not keep her job. Admittedly, Linley didn’t have to go outside the home to carry on her refuge work, as well as look after the house. So Sam probably wasn’t like that either; he and Ard had been friends for all these years and were very like-minded.

  Her father always said that there had to be a lot of talking, negotiating, and that whatever worked between two people was what made things run smoothly.

  She squeezed her eyes shut. Too late to worry about it now, Maggie O’Rourke. Ellie Lorkin.

  Jane mistook her frown and patted her hand. ‘Then we should hope that our new vote releases us from the shackles of drudgery.’

  ‘We should.’ Maggie got to her feet. ‘I need some fresh air, and a walk.’ She reached around and grabbed the back of the chair to steady herself. ‘Oh dear.’

  Jane shook her head. ‘I think you still have a touch of the sun. I’ll walk with you in case you’re a bit wobbly.’ She looped her arm with Maggie’s.

  Out on the dusty paddock that seemed to be the town centre, a few people going about their chores had stopped to stare. The Kelly gang was once again roaming and they hooted and waved as they flew past Maggie and Jane. Betsy came out of a house shooing them away, and lifted her hand in greeting, only to retreat once again. Mrs Graham stood at the door of another hut and glared. Maggie wondered if it was her one and only expression. She could see Mrs Wilson foraging in the garden.

  Once they’d returned to Jane’s house, Vera was waiting for them at the back door. She followed them inside, appeared to be uneasy. ‘I’ve been told that we’re to have a meeting about you, Miss Lorkin,’ she said, matter-of-fact.

  ‘About me?’ Maggie sat heavily on a sturdy seat. She had been dizzy for a time walking back to the hut. Jane had given her a bunch of gum leaves and, to avoid fainting, she flapped them in front of her face to cool off.

  ‘You’re a lone woman, a survivor come in from the bush after a boat disaster. The fact that you don’t want to notify anyone of your whereabouts has sent an alarm signal through the committee members.’

  ‘I see.’ Maggie kept fanning.

  Jane gaped at Vera. ‘You’ve already met with committee members?’

  ‘It’s all over Lyrup that Miss Lorkin is here, and how she just wandered in from the scrub.’

  Jane let out an exasperated breath. ‘What on earth are they worried about, exactly?’

  Vera sighed, and kept her eyes on Maggie. ‘If there’s to be any trouble, we—they don’t want to be blamed for any wrongdoing.’

  ‘How could they possibly think that?’

  Maggie kept fanning. ‘It’s all right, really.’ She looked at Vera. ‘All I ask is that I can stay until the next steamer arrives and I can buy a passage.’ Thank goodness for her little money purse, still safely about her neck. ‘Will you let them know that? I’ll be gone as soon as I can. But I would so appreciate no mention of me to others outside of the village.’

  Vera tried again. ‘That is the part that worries the men, Miss Lorkin. Is there something more we should know? Perhaps we could help.’

  Maggie shook her head.

  Vera looked at Jane, who also shook her head and shrugged. Then Vera said, ‘It’s going to be very difficult preventing the children from mentioning a stranger in their midst if someone was to—’

  ‘I’m sure they’ll forget me soon enough. I’ll do my best to be gone as soon as possible.’ And then Maggie had that sinking feeling, knowing things could really go badly wrong.

  Vera pressed on. ‘They’ve told me they’re expecting a couple of freight boats sailing upriver tomorrow to take our produce to Renmark now the water has risen a little. Another one is due downriver day after, as well.’

  ‘Perfect,’ Maggie said, her heart in her throat. ‘I’m sure I’ll secure passage downriver.’

  Jane, open-mouthed, looked from Maggie to Vera. ‘And I just might try for passage as well,’ she said and huffed loudly. ‘After all, two single ladies travelling together would be much more appropriate, wouldn’t you say, Ellie?’

  Oh dear. Maggie wasn’t sure she needed a companion. Then again, when she looked at the determined lift of Jane’s chin, she agreed that two ladies travelling together were a lot less conspicuous than one. ‘I agree.’

  At least Jane could be her ears until they had properly healed, as she certainly hoped they would. Her stomach fluttered.

  Twenty-two

  Robert Boyd turned and stared into the late afternoon
sun. He’d caught sight of that fella with the horse, and he’d been coming out of the wharf master’s hut. One of them curly dogs had followed. Then the man mounted up and rode away, as if some sort of fury was chasin’ him, the dog galloping on his heels.

  He’d visit Barnaby Cutler, who thought himself some sort of wharf master. Cutler had set up in a hut and made ledger records of boats coming and going, so the old codger would know a thing or two.

  Man has to have a horse. None of this flamin’ bicycle rubbish anymore. He lumbered up the hill, careful to keep his back and neck rigid. If he forgot, the headaches returned with a vengeance.

  He opened the door to see Cutler wiping his spectacles on his shirt tails.

  ‘Was just closin’ up, Robert. What can I do fer ye?’

  ‘Young fella just in here—I asked him earlier today about wanting to buy his horse. You know where he was off to?’

  Cutler slammed shut the big ledger. ‘No idea.’

  ‘What was he doin’ in here? Picking up some freight, or wanting to buy a ticket somewhere?’

  ‘His business, I reckon.’ Cutler tucked the ledger under the desk.

  Robert lowered his tone. ‘Just that he said he’d have an answer for me by now. So, I’m lookin’ to catch up with him, is all.’

  Cutler eyed him from under eyebrows that were thick and wiry as if shot with steel. ‘He was gone lookin’ for a place to camp the night, and he said he’d go downriver. Other than that …’ He let his voice drift.

  Robert sniffed. ‘Nothin’ else?’

  Cutler scratched his beard stubble and seemed annoyed. ‘I dunno where he was goin’. We talked about me mate’s steamer blowing up, about the passenger who mighta been on board. That’s it.’ He waved a hand at the door. ‘Now, if you don’t mind.’

  Cogs and wheels turned in Robert’s mind. The young fella had been headed to Olivewood when he’d seen him earlier in the day. Now he was asking about a passenger on the Lady Goodnight. Chances are that meant he could be looking for the O’Rourke girl. Maybe he was on the road to Lyrup. He might’ve heard the same thing about her being alive like that woman in the post office had gossiped to Angus. So maybe, just maybe, Robert should follow and find out for sure. He’d have to cross the river, but no big deal. There was always a steamer to take him one side to t’other. If the girl was alive, he’d finish her off. Maybe the young fella as well. He’d have himself a new horse at the same time. All for no expense.

  Cutler was ushering him out the door.

  Robert stalled. ‘Barney, you got a horse, haven’t you?’

  Robert was on the back stoop stuffing a leather satchel. He’d grabbed a paper bag and filled it with a fresh lump of damper and a piece of last night’s corned beef from the cookhouse. His wife would’ve served it again tonight, with white sauce, thickly sliced onion, and sprinkled with parsley, fresh from the garden tub. His mouth watered thinking of the meal, but he had other things to concentrate on.

  ‘What are you doing?’ Myra asked. ‘It’s barely gone dawn.’ She wrapped her shawl over her nightdress and stood in the doorway, her thick ankles showing and her feet jutted into slippers.

  ‘I know where I can get a horse. Is why I borrowed this nag of Cutler’s yesterday.’ He strapped the bag closed and headed for the gelding tied to Myra’s clothesline. ‘I have to leave now so I can still catch the man, bring the horse back with me and be back to open the store.’

  ‘We don’t need a horse,’ Myra said. ‘Angus says we can’t afford a horse. The money all has to go back into the store.’

  Robert slipped the bags over and attached them to the saddle. ‘Angus gets paid wages. We don’t. A horse makes us look like we’re making a good living. It’s all about the right image,’ he said, grunting as he checked the girth was tight enough. The effort pained his neck and a throb hammered in his head. Damn. He thought he’d be past the pain of it by now.

  ‘Is it, now?’ Myra said, folding her arms. Her hair was capped but the mousy-brown tight curls had fallen out.

  ‘It’s an investment,’ he said, and hauled himself into the saddle. ‘And it’s good to have a horse for the children. Teaches them respect for things—never too late, is it?’ Everything was for Marcia, their daughter who acted like she couldn’t tie her own bootlaces, and for Gregory, who was so gangly and awkward that his knees knocked. His children. So if he mentioned he’d be giving them something, he had his way. Being spoiled by their mother had been the ruin of them. When he looked at Myra, he wondered how he’d even begat his two children.

  ‘Bit late for that now they’re in their teen years,’ she said. ‘And who’s to teach them this respect?’ She raised an eyebrow.

  Not now. Not now, Myra. He swung the horse’s head. ‘I’ll be back before lunch.’

  ‘You might want to go by the wharf today. Your last order from Mildura should be coming in for the store,’ she called.

  Robert forced out a breath between his teeth. How in hell would she know that? Snooping on his order book again, no doubt. But her nagging wouldn’t stop until he gave in. ‘All right. I’ll make a quick detour and check.’

  Myra watched him ride off. At least the hasty check of stock coming off the boat would slow him down. Just where was he going this time? She hadn’t caught a hint of his usual behaviour when he was chasing down a woman—the furtive glances anywhere but at her. As if by looking at her she’d be able to tell that he was up to no good. The moody visage, the gazing into the fireplace until all hours, and the late-night jaunts. This time it seemed it was something different.

  And a horse was required. Well. Although not a new whine of his, it appeared that the horse he’d found this time was a special one. Why else would he be on a borrowed mount and charging off at dawn? She could hardly take a clandestine ride after him—no transport.

  Myra went back inside and shut the door. Leaning against it, she searched her mind for any hints over the last few days of what he might have been up to, something that she might have missed. There was nothing at all she could put her finger on. Since her visit to Olivewood had assured her that Miss Maggie O’Rourke had indeed disappeared, there’d been nothing to suspect he was plotting anything.

  Pushing off the door, she headed for the room they used as a parlour. Inside, she withdrew her sewing box from under a chair and rummaged around. Her new trinket, a large hatpin, was still there. She would put it with the others under the bed, out of the way. Setting it aside, she pulled out a flask. A couple of sips of sherry before breakfast would see her right for the day, would take the edge off the demands of two lazy children, and a disappearing husband. Yesterday she’d gone a bit strong on the sipping, and most of the flask had been drunk before she realised. It’d been a very good thing no one had been home to see her wobble back and forth until the effects of the liquor had subsided. She wouldn’t do that again but took another couple of sips for fortification. That done, she slipped the flask back under some mending and tucked the box under her chair.

  In her room, she tossed the hatpin onto the unmade bed. She shrugged into her day dress, pulled it down over her chemise and studied her face in the little mirror on her dressing table. She didn’t look so bad—not too many wrinkles, a sprinkle of grey in her hair. And she was only a little plump, really. Why did he have to stray?

  It was his own fault they had no money, not hers. If he was any kind of man, he’d work hard to keep his family. Instead, he blamed her for tying him down, and so he womanised, getting back at her, she deduced. She’d always managed to find whichever woman held his interest at the time. As the aggrieved wife, she could be very damaging, and gossip could be cruel, so in exchange for her silence she’d demanded payment from the women. If that hadn’t worked, she’d had another solution. Silly Adeline hadn’t been as smart as she’d thought she was. Myra had fixed her.

  Grabbing the hatpin, she bent to check under the bed for her house shoes. She also checked that the last woman’s clean handkerchief was where she’d left it,
tucked neatly into the springs. It hadn’t been disturbed. She gave a certain piece of floorboard a tap, and when the hollow noise satisfied her, she pried it open and dropped in the hatpin. Good thing it was the size of a small knife. Very handy.

  One day, when she really needed to, she might venture to sell more of the other baubles hidden there.

  Twenty-three

  A wet nose was nudging his elbow, and a whine followed. Bucky.

  Sam cranked open an eye. Shit, was it the dead of night? But for a haunting glow of the moon just rising beneath the stars, it could have been any time. He’d dozed off at the tree stump. Groaning, he straightened up, his back protesting, stiff and sore, and now he was hungry. He figured that might have been the dog’s problem, too.

  Dogs fed themselves, didn’t they? Bucky nudged him again. Maybe not this one.

  Pie was standing close by, his silhouette clear. Sam groaned again and stretched his legs, heard the horse’s nicker.

  Right. All present and accounted for, but God only knew where he was—somewhere on the road to that settlement Lyrup, to pay his respects to Mr Finn, to the engineer whose name he forgot to ask, and to the unfortunate woman who’d been the passenger. He’d read the name of the poor girl—what was it again … Ellie? He couldn’t remember. It wasn’t Maggie, and that was all that mattered. After that, he didn’t need to be around here. Didn’t need to be in a place if Maggie wasn’t in it.

  As he got to his feet, he felt the kinks in his back and neck loosen. His stomach growled. Food. He’d still have plenty of what Miss Lucy had given him. Fumbling for the saddlebags, and Bucky bumping his hand, he pulled out a packet of something. Sniffed it. Cake.

  ‘Not for you, dog,’ he said. He reefed into the bags again and found some more jerky. ‘There you go, boy.’ Bucky snatched the dried beef and took off. Sam gulped the cake, bent and felt for the rum bottle.