by Darry Fraser
Looking back to his camp and then to the others in his band, he laughed at himself. Quite the society, he’d said to Zeke. Sal had her hands in the bucket packing mud with leaf debris, concentrating, leaning forward over her rounded belly. Alice’s quick and strong fingers were using a knife to turn a piece of hewn timber into a sturdy table leg. She handed it up to Fred to examine. She took it back and continued. Tillie had emerged from under her canvas, tied an apron over her dress and was now tending to a fragrant pot over their cook fire.
He was missing that one thing, the thing he’d been hankering for ever since Zeke had married Maisie, and it wasn’t just slipping his cock inside a warm tight body. A wife remained elusive.
Eleven
Elsa slowed Peppin as soon as she could see the Kangaroo Inn on the rise. Worn out and hungry, all she wanted to do was stop, alight and try to ease the burning bruises on her backside. Being in the driver’s seat all day on these roads did her rump no good at all.
‘Are you sure you want to drive right past?’ Rosie said, adjusting her hat in the late afternoon sun. ‘This looks to be quite an imposing place, so if there’s no one else here, why not stop?’
Elsa kept hold of the reins while wiping a forearm over her face. She flexed her fingers. They smelled of leather and dust, were greasy with sweat—she should have thought to bring gloves. She was desperate for a bath, or at least a deep bowl of clean water. ‘We’ll see. I think I’d rather be off the road. If others are travelling—’
‘You’ve mentioned that already. But I’m tired.’ Rosie cleared her throat. ‘You must be tired, too, all the driving.’ She balanced on one side of her backside and rubbed the other. ‘I feel like I should get off and walk the next hundred yards.’
As they pulled up to the stone buildings, despite plentiful daylight the sisters were confronted with an eerie silence. Once a grand staging place for Cobb & Co, the inn had provided a haven for coach drivers, horses and travellers alike needing a reprieve. Now abandoned and crumbling, the place was unnerving.
Rosie alighted. ‘I just want to stretch a bit.’ When Elsa protested, pointing out the dangers, she said, ‘Come on, we won’t be long.’
Having climbed down from the seat and tied the reins to a sturdy branch on a shrub, Elsa went to the water barrel and poured a drink for the horse. She told him how good a boy he was and that it wouldn’t be long before they could stop for the night. Peppin seemed satisfied, nodding that he agreed. Hands on her back and stretching, Elsa looked around. Rosie had wandered a little way closer to the abandoned inn.
‘I read that it was built ages ago, before the gold rush, and now it belongs to a Mr Donald, on Gillap Station,’ Elsa called, still stretching.
‘You’d think he’d upkeep it. It could still be useful if he did.’ Rosie wandered even further. ‘I’m finding a privy spot.’
‘Hurry up,’ Elsa answered, and went in the other direction to find her own.
When she returned to the cart, Rosie was already on board. ‘If we have to leave here, let’s go. Your stories earlier today of murderers and drunken travellers have begun to send shivers up my spine,’ she said. ‘There’s something sad about all of it here.’
They pulled up again, Elsa estimated, about three miles further. A cleared patch of scrub allowed them easy access to a spot off the road. As she directed Peppin, she decided they’d gone into it far enough when, looking back, she couldn’t see the road; she reasoned nobody travelling would be able to see them now.
Rosie clambered into the back of the cart and threw the mattresses and blankets to the ground. Elsa unharnessed Peppin, chocked the cart after loosening the girth and the straps, and used the rag from the wooden box to give him a short rub down.
They needed to find running water soon, Elsa thought. Oh, to have a bath. As her sister shook the mattresses she was huffing and puffing and dust flew everywhere. Then there was the matter of their dirty clothes. Peppin was also grimy with sweat and dirt, and the barrel of water (just for drinking, Elsa had declared earlier) wouldn’t last forever.
‘I’m glad we’re almost to Penola,’ she said as they settled on their beds, their cups of water carefully set on the ground. ‘We can find a well, but better to pay for a bath somewhere. And we’re nearly at the end of these,’ she said, handing a bun to her sister. ‘They feel more like rocks than buns.’
‘It’s something in our stomachs.’ Rosie broke off a bit and popped it in her mouth. ‘I’m sure the good township of Penola has a decent bakery,’ she said around the chewing.
Elsa shifted, wriggled on the mattress and then sat still, a long sigh escaping. ‘It feels good to be off that cursed cart.’ She took a bite of stale bun. ‘I’m not sure my backside will ever recover.’
‘Wriggle a bit more,’ Rosie said, still chewing.
Elsa reached over and sipped from her cup. Oh, for some tea. Her father immediately popped into her head. She remembered the way they would sit around the fireplace in the hut and sip a strong cup of tea while they waited for the rabbit stew, or mutton if they were lucky, to heat for dinner.
‘What is it?’ Rosie asked. ‘You just gave a loud sigh.’
‘Did I?’ Elsa took another bite, chewed and swallowed. ‘I miss Pa. And George. Suddenly the future is a yawning chasm.’
‘It’s been a yawning chasm for a while for me.’
Rosie was so matter-of-fact. Elsa propped on her elbow. ‘I didn’t know you were unhappy; you’ve never indicated. I just assumed that married life must have made some people a bit grumpy because they had more responsibilities or something. It seems to me lots of married people are grumpy.’
‘Some married people,’ Rosie said and glanced at her. ‘For a long time, I’ve been wondering if there was ever to be anything else to life. I haven’t been able to bear a child. I live with a man who’s mean with money and mean-spirited, who thinks I’m there to work myself to death for his bakery. It should be our bakery, but he always refers to it as his. I dressed how he wanted me to dress. My interests were frowned upon, being with my family was frowned upon. And all for what? To be rewarded with a loveless marriage, and now my youth gone. I didn’t want that to be all there was for the rest of my life.’ She gave a big sigh. ‘When you came to tell me about George, I thought that it would be my chance to stand up to Frank and tell him I would be looking after Pa. That he could work the bakery himself.’
Daylight was fading but Elsa could see her sister’s chin firm up. She thought that Rosie might have been holding on to some other emotion, but Elsa couldn’t think what it would be.
‘I know you were looking after Pa,’ Rosie said. ‘I just wanted to be closer after all these years. I think Pa knew what was between me and Frank, but he wouldn’t say anything about it. A woman’s place, and all that.’ A little laugh escaped. ‘When I got home to the farm with you, after worrying all the way there that Frank would be angry, I wondered if I’d gone mad wanting to leave. I began thinking I should scurry back home, and there was Pa, dead. And something inside just—clicked.’
Elsa lay down. In the silence now, she tried to understand what she’d just been told. Rosie had been sixteen when she married Frank. There were many years Elsa remembered an aloof Rosie, an older sister out of reach. When Elsa would become bewildered by her sister’s disinterest in her, their mother would pat her hand and say, ‘Don’t bother your sister, dear. She’s a married lady, with grown-ups’ worries.’ Their father would simply turn away. Sometimes Elsa wondered if he was pained by something Rosie had done, but he never said. Learning just now that her sister had changed because someone had asked it of her seemed foreign, but then again Rosie had been with Frank all of Elsa’s life—that person was the only Rosie she’d ever known. Her leaving now seemed very brave, or very reckless.
At the first stars appearing, Elsa asked, ‘So, are you afraid of the future?’
Rosie waited a beat. ‘I am, but not fearfully afraid, if you know what I mean—not enough to go back. I’m on
a path now that I don’t want to get off. The freedom … I feel almost euphoric and I really can’t think straight. Perhaps that’s the running away. Perhaps it’s grief as well.’ She finished the last of her bun and took a drink. ‘I know things will be very tough if I can’t find work, but I am determined to do better.’
‘You always laugh at my interest in women’s suffrage, and now you sound just like us.’
‘Oh, and you identify with the suffragists, now, do you?’ Rosie, the taciturn sister she knew, looked over at her.
‘Don’t be mocking again. It’s not just about the vote, you know, and I do intend to vote—absolutely. It’s one step towards being independent in this world and allowing our voices on political matters to be heard.’
‘Political matters? It’s hard enough having our voices heard in our own homes before we go shouting about something else. You still sound like you’re reciting from a page.’
‘Rosie, I know there are lots of women who feel the same way.’
‘How do you know? I don’t see too many in Robe.’
‘There are a few, of those who are still in Robe, that is. But I read the newspapers. Many women feel the same. Only a few years ago, for instance, thousands signed a huge petition—’
‘Don’t get on a soapbox, Elsa, I’ve heard you before. That stuff is not for me. I do want my independence. Or more importantly, I do not want to be tied down again like I have been. And that’s that.’
Elsa thought a little before replying. It sounded as if Rosie was trying to shut down the conversation, and she was used to that. This time, though, things with Rosie had to be different. Elsa had read a report from parliament citing one minister who had declared it would be dangerous for women to vote: that the very heart of a man’s home and family life was at risk if it were to happen.
‘How can we be independent when we’re not allowed to be?’ she asked Rosie. ‘How will it ever come about, when even some of us women don’t want to be? Some people imagine we couldn’t cope, or that their worlds would come crashing down if we got an education or kept and managed the money we earned ourselves.’ They were all the things that Rosie had just taken a stand against. Didn’t she fully realise that she was already thinking independently of the man in her life? Elsa wanted to grab her sister’s hand but refrained. Not yet, not yet. ‘That’s what our vote is for, to ensure we have that basic right to be what we want to be, and I’m going to add mine at the election.’
There was another long silence. Night was coming quickly. Soon they’d share a blanket over them to keep the insects away and then sleep would come. But for the moment, Elsa could almost feel the air hum between them as Rosie’s thoughts churned.
‘Well, in that case, we must ensure that we are back in our colony and find a place to vote, for I believe Victoria has not allowed women to go to the polls,’ Rosie said, surprising Elsa. ‘I have a feeling we will have to be very busy in order to do that.’ Then her sister turned away on her side.
‘It’s the only thing I want to do. And I will do it. I will come back and vote.’
‘Of course you will,’ Rosie murmured. ‘Now, do stop going on about it, it’ll give me nightmares. Go to sleep.’
There were things Elsa would like to have asked her sister, but they’d have to wait. She twisted the blanket they needed out from under her and tossed it over them. Rosie grabbed an edge, pulling it over her head. It didn’t matter that she’d turned away; at least she was mulling it over.
The last thing Elsa remembered thinking was how her own life might look in the future. She had no family left except her runaway sister, no home and perhaps no fortune if they didn’t find George’s tin. Poor George. Poor Pa. Her heart thudded. Destitute was the word that came to mind. Her future? She couldn’t see anything. Suddenly she wanted a good cry to take her over.
Elsa popped awake. What was that? She stopped breathing. There, not far. On the road, coming from Robe. A light bobbed in the pitch dark, a voice snarled. A whip cracked and thunderous hooves and the rattle of a vehicle hammered the road not twenty yards from where they camped.
Her heart banged against her ribs. Peppin let out a soft nicker, but that didn’t worry her—he wouldn’t be heard over the din of the vehicle on the rutted road. But the shock of knowing they would have been found had they stayed at the Kangaroo Inn ruin made her feel sick.
Sucking in shallow breaths, she snuck her hand across to find Rosie’s strong, warm fingers had already reached for hers. The traveller’s noise faded in the distance, but Elsa stayed frozen, rigid on the flat mattress until no other sound could be heard. No following rider or coach. No wandering men carousing after a night on the rum.
‘They couldn’t have been after us,’ Rosie whispered, letting go of her hand. She turned onto her side and went back to sleep.
For Elsa, the night was long as she watched the stars, hour after hour, edge their way towards the new day.
They were away at first light. The hard ground under her thin mattress hadn’t helped Elsa doze at all after last night’s fright. She could feel the insistent niggle of a fatigue headache as she packed the cart.
They’d made steady pace with little conversation, and Elsa assumed Rosie felt the same, even though she’d slept. Now, with a rider approaching from Penola way, their tempers were tetchy.
‘Get us off the road, quick.’
Elsa straightened up. ‘There’s no easy place to pull off, Rosie. There’s that great drain all the way along on one side in this section and no way through the scrub on the other.’
Rosie was hanging on to her seat as the cart bounced behind Peppin who was into a slow trot. ‘We’ll just have to hope it’s no one we know.’
‘Even if it is,’ Elsa said as she tried to steady Peppin’s speed, ‘we have a perfect right to be here. Besides, they’re coming from the other way. Just keep calm.’
‘I am calm,’ Rosie snapped.
‘Right.’
The rider held up a hand, indicating he wanted to stop. Elsa’s thoughts spun. If she just waved in return and pressed on, it would be rude and likely gain notice—two women flying past in a cart, not stopping for a friendly chat. Then again, if they did stop—
‘Oh God,’ Rosie said through her teeth, her voice jumping with the corrugations in the road. ‘It looks like Mr Milton, all that white hair and that long beard.’
Elsa groaned. Mr Milton, a retired solicitor in Robe, had known them all their lives and would easily recognise them. He’d wonder why they didn’t stop. It would be the first thing he’d report to Frank back home—the detail of whether they stopped or not.
‘We have to pull up,’ Elsa said and dragged in the reins. Peppin slowed.
‘Why? Let’s just go straight past him—’
‘Ahoy, young Goody girls,’ Mr Milton shouted and raised his hat high in the air, waving it before he shoved it back on. Hauling his horse to a stop, he waited until their cart was alongside. ‘Or I should say Miss Goody and Mrs Putney—I’m getting so old, I still remember you both as little children. And always a pleasure to see you.’ His smile revealed big teeth, a gap between his two front ones. His long white beard was dotted with insects.
Elsa and Rosie spoke in unison. ‘Good day, Mr Milton.’
‘And you’re a long way from home, now,’ he said and peered into the back of their transport.
Rosie started. ‘Well, we—’
‘Our father has died, Mr Milton, just after we learned our George had died. We are going to—’ Rosie dug her hard in the ribs with an elbow. ‘Penola, to inform relatives. It’s so much quicker than sending a letter in the mail, you see.’
Mr Milton looked appalled. He snatched off his hat again. ‘Oh Lord, my deepest sympathy. Your George, so young. And your father, too?’
‘He was ill, you see,’ said Elsa, moving slightly away from Rosie. ‘And the news of our George’s death was an added shock to his poor health.’
Rosie flapped her pinny, dabbed her eyes with a co
rner of it then madly waved off the flies that came at her from Peppin’s tail.
‘Of course, of course. I knew Curtis was ill. I’m so sorry,’ Mr Milton said. ‘When did all this happen?’
Elsa, ignoring Rosie’s glare, said, ‘We got word that George had died weeks earlier just three days ago and Pa died the very next day, so as Pa has no kin, we thought to inform our mother’s family.’
‘In Penola?’ The gap-toothed smile was wide, but he looked perplexed. ‘I thought Kitty’s people were in Naracoorte.’
‘In Naracoorte,’ Elsa said, agreeing quickly. ‘After we’ve seen other relatives in Penola.’
Mr Milton shook his head. ‘Dearie me, young ladies, it’s all terrible news. But George—what happened to young George?’
Rosie put her face in her hands and Elsa heard a sob, for George’s demise, of course, and just as much for Mr Milton’s benefit. He began to look uncomfortable.
‘Mr Milton, a terrible thing.’ Elsa’s voice hiccupped. ‘He was shot, they said, by bushrangers.’
‘Oh, my Lord,’ Mr Milton said, shock creasing his face. ‘This day and age? That’s truly terrible, Miss Goody. Not in these districts, I hope.’
‘Oh no,’ Elsa said. ‘Somewhere far into Victoria.’ Rosie’s elbow wasn’t able to reach her this time.
He frowned. ‘Well, it isn’t safe for you to be driving around without a man to escort you.’ His horse, dancing beneath him, bumped Peppin, who barely turned his head. Clouds of black dots took flight, flies rising off the backsides of both animals before settling again. ‘Two young women, alone. I should think perhaps that’s asking for trouble,’ he scolded.
Elsa gave him a dark frown. ‘We’re not alarmed to do it, Mr Milton. So far, we are very well as you can see, and we’ll be extremely careful. But it is a timely thing for us that we’ve met you on the road,’ Elsa said, ignoring the eye Rosie gave her. ‘We passed Kangaroo Inn some hours before dusk last night, and we’ve travelled a good distance today. Surely we can’t be far out of Penola.’