Elsa Goody, Bushranger

by Darry Fraser

An older woman peeked around the open door. ‘There you are, Jonty Jones. Did you wake the lady?’

  ‘He didn’t wake me,’ Elsa said in a rush. Goodness, Mr Jones’s wife looks much older than I expected. She put down the tea and swung her legs off the cot. The throbbing foot didn’t let up.

  ‘Come along, young man,’ the woman said. ‘We’ll get you something to eat before school.’

  Jonty scuttled out. ‘Bye, Elsa.’

  The woman stood in the doorway. Her dress was splotched at the hem, as if she’d stood in a puddle, and there were dark smudges on the bodice. She smiled, and her face creased into soft lines and deep wrinkles at her eyes that suggested to Elsa perhaps this woman might have been Jonty’s grandmother, and not his mother.

  She glanced down at Elsa’s bandaged foot. When Elsa looked at it, she was dismayed to see how dirty it had become. ‘Oh gracious. That looks awful.’

  ‘The children are having their breakfast, so I’ve come to take you to the privy and to help you bathe and dress.’

  ‘Thank you, Mrs Jones,’ Elsa said automatically. May as well get that over and done with. She felt her face warm despite her best intentions.

  ‘My dear, my name is Lily Hartman. Mrs Hartman. I was also a guest of the Joneses last night. It seems we have a houseful of people, three of whom don’t usually reside here.’

  Not Jonty’s mother.

  ‘And for your information, both Messrs Jones are wid—’

  Yells and shouts, erupting in an argument, were coming from another room. They were children’s voices. A deep grumble from a man followed and the shouts quietened to indignant protests of who was to blame for what. Another deep grumble and there was silence, followed by the stomping of feet as someone left the house.

  For a long moment it had all been music to Elsa’s ears.

  ‘Are you feeling quite all right?’ Mrs Hartman asked.

  ‘Yes, I am. I was just listening to sounds I haven’t heard for a very long time.’ She put her good foot on the floor. ‘I’m Elsa Goody. I had come looking for Mr Jones but got lost in the night.’

  ‘Well, clearly you found him, and it’s certainly all very intriguing. Not to mention nasty, I imagine,’ Mrs Hartman said, pointing at Elsa’s foot. ‘Can you walk at all on that?’

  ‘A bone is broken, I think. I can hop and shuffle, and I had a stick somewhere that helped me.’

  ‘I’ll see if someone can fashion a set of crutches for you. Shouldn’t be difficult for the strapping farm men around here, or at least the healthy one, that is. Come along, let’s get you moving. No sense using that thing if you don’t have to.’ She tilted her head at the commode chair.

  On Mrs Hartman’s arm, Elsa managed to hobble out of the room, past two other rooms along a short hallway, and outside to the privy. Afterwards she hopped and limped to the cookhouse and Mrs Hartman sat her in a chair. The children appeared to have gone and the silence was pronounced.

  At the stove, slicing a chunk of fresh damper from the fragrant loaf, Mrs Hartman said, ‘Mr Jones has taken his children to the gate on their way to school. There’ll be time for you to have a quick bath,’ she said and pointed to a drawn curtain at the end of the room, ‘and to wash some of the dust and dirt off you.’ She pushed the plate with damper and jam on it to Elsa. ‘Put something in your stomach first, dear.’

  ‘I really must speak to Mr Jones,’ Elsa started, tearing off a piece of damper and dabbing it into the jam, a dark fragrant berry of some sort.

  ‘He’ll be back shortly.’ She smoothed her hands over her already neat hair, tied back into a sensible bun. ‘I was to go home myself this morning, escorted by the children, but your arrival last night seems to have changed the plans.’

  ‘What do you mean?’ Another bite was halfway to Elsa’s mouth.

  ‘Mr Jones—Ezekiel, that is—says it mightn’t be safe for me to return home just yet, and now with you here, I am to be a—companion for you, and you for me I suspect. There is another Mr Jones here, recuperating, you see.’

  Elsa took the mouthful, chewed and swallowed as Mrs Hartman brought another cup filled with hot tea. ‘Mr Judah Jones?’

  ‘That’s right.’ Mrs Hartman smartly turned away, gathering used dishes to take to the deep washbowl on the bench.

  Elsa stared down at the woman’s dress. ‘Is that blood all over your hem?’

  ‘Judah’s blood. I found him early yesterday after that man had attacked him.’ She put a hand on the small of her back, stretched, and a breathy groan escaped.

  ‘Oh.’ Elsa stared at Mrs Hartman’s ramrod straight back. ‘That’s terrible for you. Are you all right?’

  ‘I’m a bit creaky today. I had a long gallop bareback yesterday coming for Ezekiel’s help. Out of practice.’ Mrs Hartman turned and smiled at her. ‘More terrible for poor Judah but he’s well enough, considering. Now, if you’re finished that mouthful, let’s get you into the bath—there’s a towel for you on the chair—and then I must get onto some chores around here if I’m to be useful.’

  Elsa slid carefully into the shallow bath, but not before Mrs Hartman had insisted she divest herself of everything, her dress, her chemise and her smalls. At first Elsa protested. Not only because she’d be naked, but she’d have nothing to wear afterwards. She had smalls in the satchel; it’s just that her chemise was in a very sad state, patched and stitched together. An embarrassment, but who’d have thought it would ever be seen by anyone else?

  ‘Hmm.’ Mrs Hartman held it up. ‘I’m not sure this would survive a good washing but we’ll have to try. In this weather it’ll dry in a jiffy. I’ll sponge off your dress, Miss Goody, and that will have to do.’

  From behind the curtain, Elsa soaped up quickly in the bath. ‘Please don’t go to too much trouble, Mrs Hartman. I’ll be gone from here as soon as I have the information—’ She stopped.

  Information for Nebo was one thing, information about George was another.

  ‘Information?’

  ‘About my brother, George,’ she finished.

  ‘Well, you’ll need decent clothes to gather that information, and I won’t be—’

  Wild yells erupted once again and barking dogs joined the cacophony as Elsa heard the door open.

  ‘Dogs, get out of it,’ a loud male voice commanded. ‘And you boys, go tie them up. Calm yourselves, and stop needling Gracie. Mrs Hartman, I had a sudden feeling that I should like my children home today, after all. So here we are, back again, right or wrong. You’ll have an army to help you with the chores.’

  The groans of protest from his children made Elsa smile.

  ‘Out of the kitchen, children. Out, out, out.’ Mrs Hartman made shooing noises. ‘And you, too, Mr Jones.’ After a moment of silence, she said, ‘Miss Goody is taking a bath.’

  ‘Oh. Right,’ Mr Jones said.

  Elsa heard all the voices fade and the door shut, and she slid deeper into the bath. She pulled at the tough leather ties and the pins that bound the taut plait and released her hair. Oh, the relief. Scrubbing her fingers on her scalp, the tension eased. Her hair had always been a pain, always a bother. She finger-combed it before dunking her head. Washing it with the soap Mrs Hartman had provided and rinsing sudsy water with fresh from a pitcher within reach, she squeezed out excess water. Hauling herself out of the bath to the chair she finished off with the towel. Her hair would take ages to dry; nothing to do about that but wait.

  Now, there was only one problem. The satchel carrying her clean smalls was in the room in which she’d slept, and no Mrs Hartman in sight. She’d just have to wait behind the curtain, while wrapped in the light, damp towel.

  Thirty

  As Lily stood outside the kitchen room, her arms draped with Elsa’s clothes, she listened to Ezekiel explain, his hat in his hand. He certainly had a nice way about him and had a twinkle in his eye, unlike serious Judah. The other brother, Nebo, well, he just seemed to have a chip on his shoulder, always seemed a bit surly. Ezekiel’s voice was low and calm.
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br />   ‘I got nearly to the gate and then I began to worry that if that fella with the knife was still around, my kids might be in danger. So I turned poor Milo around and came back. Would you stay another day or two longer than I asked? Of course, not to alarm you, but it might be for your own safety as well.’

  A little disappointed, Lily resisted looking down at her own dirty clothes. ‘I was hoping to get some fresh clothes but if you think it best—’

  ‘I’ll accompany you to your place for whatever you might need. Jude can look after things for a couple of hours, and Miss Goody is here too. I’m sure she might stay until at least you can get something to …’ He faltered and waved a hand vaguely at her blood-stained clothes.

  ‘Oh yes, a relief to get clean clothes, and something for Miss Goody as well.’ She paused and looked at him. ‘I have left her in the cookhouse so no one is to go there until I say so.’

  He raised his eyebrows but only said, ‘Understood.’

  ‘And Mr Jones will need his bandage changed.’

  ‘I can do that.’

  Lily nodded. ‘I’ll need to wash the old one. And now, where is your copper for laundry, Mr Jones?’ She held up Elsa’s dress.

  He ruffled his hair and replaced his hat. ‘Nothing so grand here, Mrs Hartman. I just boil water on the stove and it all gets done in the bathtub when I can get to it.’ He turned to go. ‘I’d prefer to get you to your place and back again as soon as I can.’

  Lily looked at the chemise and the dress over her arm. ‘In that case, I’ll have to tend to this straight away.’

  ‘I’ll get Gracie. Direct her for anything you want done. If you’re ready now, I’ll saddle up our horses.’ He shouted for his daughter. ‘Gracie, Mrs Hartman needs your help here.’

  He’s very insistent. Lily walked back to the kitchen. ‘Are you decent, dear?’ she called to Elsa behind the curtain. ‘We need to do this laundry in here, apparently. Goodness knows why the man hasn’t built a lean-to for a copper. Three children to deal with, and he washes in the bathtub.’

  ‘I’m wrapped in the towel, Mrs Hartman.’

  Oh, so lovely to be looking after a young woman again. I do miss Loretta. Lily drew aside the curtain and took in Elsa’s wild mass of drying hair, the swollen and bruised foot, and the thin damp towel. ‘If you will, sponge off your dress here, then slip it on for the day. We’ll get to your chemise now, once I have the water heated.’

  ‘I have clean smalls in the satchel in the room I slept in if someone would—’

  ‘Hello, Mrs Hartman.’

  At the young voice, Lily turned. ‘Ah, Gracie. Would you go to the room Miss Goody slept in and bring her satchel?’

  Gracie was staring at Elsa. ‘Good morning, Miss Goody,’ she said, her dark eyes clear and bright. ‘I’m pleased to meet you.’

  ‘Good morning, Gracie. I’m pleased to meet you, too.’

  ‘Go along now,’ Mrs Hartman said to the girl. ‘And hurry back.’ And a houseful of children to look after. Oh, my poor heart has missed this.

  Gracie turned her gaze to Lily and nodded before leaving, a small smile on her usually solemn face.

  Lily found a clean rag from the drawer in the hutch and shook it before dunking it in a bowl of water, squeezing out a little moisture and handing it to Elsa. ‘Just the immediate needs, and I’ll empty the bath and refill it to wash your chemise.’

  ‘I wish I could help. I’m not used to being an invalid.’

  ‘With that foot, dear,’ Mrs Hartman said, pointing at it, ‘I don’t think you’ll be doing too much on it for a couple of days at least. Even with crutches, you’ll have to rest it. I’ll re-bandage it shortly.’

  She heaved a pot, heavy with water, onto the stove, and stoked the oven beneath, deciding that the chemise could be washed here, not in the bathtub. Before she and Ezekiel got on their way to her place, she would ask Gracie to empty the bath.

  Such a delight to be useful again, to have a family to—

  Thoughts of Judah Jones—and that they’d both been under the very same roof last evening—invaded her mind and crowded other sensible thoughts into a corner. Now, now, Lily Hartman. She shook herself. Just put a stop to that before you lose your mind, silly woman.

  She dunked Elsa’s thin and patched garment in the lukewarm water and, sudsing with the soap Elsa had used, she tried to start a conversation.

  ‘I have a daughter about your age,’ she said.

  ‘I’m twenty-four,’ Elsa offered.

  That surprised Lily. ‘Oh, in that case, my Loretta is younger, and is my youngest, she’s nineteen. She’s working in Melbourne city for well-to-do folk. She should be married too, soon, I think.’

  The young woman nodded, sponging at the armpits of her dress.

  So, Miss Elsa is clearly not a talker, Lily decided. No matter. She went on. ‘And I have two sons. Oliver, he’s the eldest and Edward, he’s the middle child. They’re also working in the city.’

  The young woman looked up. ‘Your sons don’t live here?’

  ‘Gracious, no. They’re in Melbourne too,’ Lily replied, but felt the little thud in her chest as the emotion of missing them, all three of her children, swept through her. ‘They have an education to get.’

  ‘Education,’ Elsa repeated softly, her head bent over her dress.

  ‘They’re doing well, by all accounts, which I might add, are few and far between. Still, you can’t expect sons to keep their mothers informed of what they’re doing.’ Or a daughter.

  ‘I should think it only a kindness,’ Elsa said. ‘If not a duty.’

  Lily felt colour rise in her cheeks. ‘They do their best, I’m sure,’ she said, and even to her ears it sounded like an excuse. ‘They mustn’t realise what it’s like to lose their parents, and how they’d miss them if …’

  Lily heard the young woman’s voice waver. ‘They lost their father, some years ago. But none of my children are sentimental in that way,’ she said and suddenly believed the truth of it.

  ‘It’s not sentimental.’ Elsa’s voice was very quiet.

  Lily rinsed the chemise one last time and wrung it out as best she could. ‘I’ll be right back.’ Stepping outside with the wet chemise and towel over her arm, she saw Gracie returning with the satchel held tight in her skinny little arms. ‘Here, my dear. I’ll take the bag. Would you hang these out in the sunniest place? And make sure they can’t fall into the dirt.’

  ‘Yes, Mrs Hartman.’ Gracie handed over the satchel and took the wet laundry.

  Ezekiel came out of the house with a handful of bandages. From what Lily could see, they were only lightly soiled on the spot where Judah’s wound would have been. He was heading for the cookhouse.

  Lily stepped in his path. ‘I’ll have that, Mr Jones,’ she said, taking the pile of cotton gauze from his hands and slapping it on top of Elsa’s bag. ‘I won’t be long and then we can go.’

  Ezekiel shook his head. ‘Mrs Hartman—’

  ‘Just a little more time.’ She turned with her arms full and marched back into the kitchen.

  From the satchel, Elsa pulled out a pair of knickers, creased and dusty, and shook them, then reached in and brought forth a camisole in the same condition. ‘These will do perfectly well under my day dress, Mrs Hartman,’ she said.

  ‘We can re-use your bandage for your foot, but I will have to wash Mr Jones’s.’ She stood for a moment. ‘I wonder if there’s more of his things to wash.’ She turned to Elsa. ‘Are you all right to dress yourself, dear?’

  ‘Yes, there are only a few buttons on my dress. I can manage it.’

  ‘Good. I must go to Mr Jones. Mr Judah, that is.’

  Oh, it feels so good to have such purpose. She walked smartly back to the house. Mr Ezekiel is waiting patiently, the dear man. And once returned from getting fresh clothes for myself, I can set to and bake for the family. Goodness knows, there’s hardly anything here for all of us to eat. I can gather eggs from home, and the last of my bake from the other day—


  She found herself at the door of the room which Judah occupied. Her heart leapt. Surely that was a good sign—the warm thrills cascading in her belly. She knocked, heard him invite her in with a curt, ‘Yes?’ So, in she went, her breath in her throat.

  Standing in the open doorway, she said, ‘Mr Jones. I’m so glad to see you well.’ Though he did look a bit pasty. She clasped her hands in front of her to prevent them fluttering to her hair. He wore no shirt, and a thin spread of dark hair, sprinkled with silver, spread across his chest and trailed down to where it met a thick swathe of bandage, wrapped low and firmly around his hips.

  ‘Well as can be, Mrs Hartman.’ Gruff, of course. Of course, he was. He was Judah Jones. ‘All thanks to you gettin’ to my brother in a hurry.’ He glanced at her. Then looked away. The stubble on his cheeks and jaw was very much greyer than the hair on his head. And he might need a shave soon. It had been some time since she’d helped a man shave …

  He was propped on his side, and pillows and blankets had been pushed around him to keep him off his wound. It looked as if Ezekiel had done a reasonable job of the bandage, and she found herself trying not to look at where it was almost covered by the bed linens. He was lean, this Mr Jones, but not thin, like Stan had been. This was a muscled man, well used to manual labour.

  Remembering the reason for being in his room, she said, ‘I came to see if you needed anything. Your shirt washed, or—’

  ‘No,’ he said sharply, then added, ‘thank you.’

  ‘Perhaps you’d like some tea,’ she said, hopeful.

  ‘Zeke brought tea,’ he answered and nodded towards the pannikin on the bedside table.

  ‘Bread and jam? Or eggs perhaps?’ she asked and at his hesitation, at last felt she had made a breakthrough. Food. Time to take charge, Lily Hartman. ‘I’ll bring breakfast.’

  ‘No.’ He set his mouth. ‘No need to wait on me.’

  All right, no breakfast. ‘Mr Jones, I’m sure your brother would’ve told you of another visitor in the night,’ she went on. ‘Another invalid, as it turns out. Would you know how to make a pair of crutches, perhaps to instruct young Gifford?’ she asked firmly, her hands now quite still as they laced in front of her.