Elsa Goody, Bushranger

by Darry Fraser

  Elsa said to Gracie, ‘The stick, please, and stay low.’ The young girl scrambled out of the room. ‘Mr Jones, you must get back to bed. Your wound is bleeding.’

  Gracie scampered back on her hands and knees, dragging the crutch behind her. Elsa grabbed it and hauled herself to her feet. ‘Gifford, please help your uncle.’

  ‘Dammit,’ Judah breathed. He’d started crawling, and Gifford was trying awkwardly to help his uncle get to the bed, fearing to put his arms around him.

  ‘You come out here with your hands up, Jones,’ a man outside yelled.

  Elsa struggled to the window and peered out, careful to keep herself hidden. Certainly, two troopers were there, rifles aimed at the house.

  Gifford was still struggling with his uncle, not sure where to grab him, but finally Judah flopped onto the bed and rolled onto his back.

  Elsa glanced at Gracie. ‘Get some clean towels or something for your uncle, to help stop the bleeding.’

  ‘I’ll get ’em,’ Jonty yelled and suddenly bobbed up, ready to run from the room.

  An explosion shattered the window, covering Elsa with shards of glass and timber. A hole burst in the wall behind them. Gracie shrieked and threw herself on the floor, clutching at Jonty, who’d howled in fright.

  ‘What are you doing?’ Elsa screamed out the shattered window. ‘You just shot at a child.’

  ‘Wassat?’ The voice from outside sounded genuinely surprised. ‘D’you hear that, Mr Clark? It’s a woman.’

  Gifford dived across the floor to the rifle. He grabbed a bullet from his pocket and scrambled to his knees, frantically trying to pull back the bolt.

  Outside a trooper bellowed, ‘Don’t care it’s a woman. Prob’ly one o’ them doxies from the hold-up that Watson reported.’ He waited a beat. ‘We know Nebo Jones is in there, so come out, hands up.’

  Gifford still desperately tried to reload.

  Elsa dropped to the floor and, sweeping glass gingerly out of her way, shuffled on her knees to him. She couldn’t escape broken glass from pricking her bandaged foot but thankfully there were no shards. Still, little chips stung her toes as they found their mark. She slapped at Gifford’s shaking hand as he tried to load the bullet. ‘Gifford, stop. Put the gun down.’

  Lips clamped, mouth in a firm line, he shook his head and tried to snatch it out of her way.

  ‘They’ll shoot you, Gifford, if you aim the rifle at them.’ She heard the plea in her voice.

  He shook his head again, still fighting her.

  ‘Giff.’ Judah Jones was up on one elbow. ‘Let it go, lad,’ he said tiredly. ‘That’s not the way. Don’t be like your other bloody uncle, the one without a whistle between his ears to call for brains. You know better than that.’ Gifford slumped, as if the air had gone out of him and he pushed the rifle away, relinquishing it. ‘Good boy. Now, crawl back over here,’ Judah wheezed. Swiping broken glass out of his way, Gifford slunk over to the bed and sat with his back against it. Jude let a hand drape over one of his shoulders.

  The loud trooper roared, ‘Get out here, now, Jones.’

  Elsa peered out again and then back across the room. Gracie had Jonty in a stranglehold on the floor. ‘You two stay on the floor,’ she ordered. They both nodded silently, wide-eyed. She shouted, ‘Nebo Jones is not here. It’s just Judah Jones and Ezekiel Jones’s children and me.’

  ‘We know bloody Nebo’s in there.’

  Elsa almost rolled her eyes. ‘You’re wrong,’ she yelled. ‘Judah Jones is in here injured after an attack on him, and he is with Ezekiel’s children.’

  ‘He fired at us.’

  ‘He was defending children, defending himself.’

  ‘Not bloody likely.’

  ‘You are damned fools,’ she shouted again, angry and frustrated by their stupidity. ‘And you’ll be more than the laughing stock of the town when this gets out—grown men shooting at children, at innocents.’ Peering out again, Elsa saw a cloud of dust behind the troopers, in the distance but certainly on the home track. Perhaps it was Ezekiel riding back. Oh, that thought filled her with hope and with dread at the same time. Ezekiel Jones.

  ‘Ain’t takin’ no woman’s nonsense. Nebo Jones, get out here.’

  From her vantage point, Elsa now saw two riders were bearing down the track. One whose clothes were billowing—that would be Mrs Hartman. Dear God, would they be killed if the troopers panicked?

  ‘I’m going to come out,’ Elsa called. ‘By the front door.’

  ‘Yair, so Jones can get out the back way.’

  Elsa could see the rifle in one man’s hand begin to lower. The other was aimed at the broken window. ‘So, go around the back, you fool, as I come out the front,’ she retorted.

  ‘You got cheek, woman.’

  I’ll give you cheek when I get to you face to face. Elsa shuffled back. ‘Mr Jones, you’ll stay low, stay on your bed?’

  ‘I’ll stay here.’

  Gifford cried out, his voice breaking, ‘They’ll kill him if they come in.’

  ‘They won’t.’

  Jonty whimpered. Gracie dragged him over to Gifford at Jude’s bed and pressed the little lad against his brother.

  ‘Your father is coming,’ Elsa said, a whisper so low she wasn’t sure they could hear. ‘I can see him. The troopers haven’t heard him yet.’

  ‘They’ll shoot him.’ Giff’s eyes were wide.

  ‘Not while I’m standing out the front.’ Elsa turned back to the window. ‘I’m coming out now,’ she shouted. ‘If you shoot me, you’ll have to shoot every one of us, every witness, and shooting children is not an act of self-defence, is it?’ She dropped to the floor again and slid under the shattered window, dragging the crutch with her. Pricks of pain smarted once again where glass nicked her toes.

  They heard a trooper say, ‘I ain’t shootin’ no kids, Mr Kilby.’

  ‘No one’s shootin’ kids, fool,’ the loudmouth growled. ‘You, girlie,’ he yelled. ‘No weapons now.’

  Edging up the wall, she could clearly see it was Ezekiel galloping towards the house, Mrs Hartman now left well behind. His reins flicked wildly from one side of his horse to the other, his hat long gone and the locks of his hair streaming behind him. In that glimpse Elsa had never seen anything more wonderful—or terrifying—in her life. He was charging towards the troopers.

  ‘Gracie, you stay with the boys to help your uncle,’ Elsa whispered. ‘The troopers won’t hurt us. Go on, now.’ The girl stared at her, wide-eyed and silent.

  Elsa needed to keep the troopers’ attention from Ezekiel. She slowly pulled open the door, leaned on the crutch and squinted into the bright daylight. Her foot hurt, her toes stung. She squeezed her eyes shut a moment and waited for that split-second click of a barrel.

  Nothing.

  She opened her eyes. Ezekiel was still too far away. Shuffling onto the verandah in full view of the troopers, she called out, ‘It’s just me. There are three children inside and an invalid man.’

  A push behind her, and a small hand gripped her skirt. ‘I’m here, too. Jonty and Giff have got Uncle Jude, so I’m helping you.’

  Shock thundered in Elsa’s chest. She half turned. ‘No, Gracie, go back—’

  ‘Drop it now. I can see what you’re doin’,’ the trooper roared, and the rifle came up to his eye again.

  Elsa’s breath caught. Desperate to keep Gracie out of sight, she froze. Ezekiel was only a few hundred yards from them, but still so very far away, even if he was coming fast. Just a bit more time—

  A shot rang out, booming loud in her ears. Behind her Gracie screamed and dropped. Dust flew up from the boards as Elsa crumpled on the verandah.

  Thirty-Two

  Damn and blast that trooper. Sure an’ all there was worse cursin’ he could yell into the afternoon air, but naught to be done for it—he’d only end up swallerin’ flies as he rode along. He wasn’t gonna directly cross the law, so no amount of yellin’ about it would make any difference.

  He kick
ed his horse into a gallop. Pete Southie knew he was close to Penola and as soon as he got there, he’d get to the first pub. He hoped he’d make it before that cloud burst overhead. Still, he had good daylight and although hungry, he’d slake his thirst with a rum and then fix his rumbling stomach.

  Bugger it. Over three days since leavin’ the Goody farm and he still got his back up knowing that the trooper had accused him of thievery.

  There he was, mindin’ his own business—he’d been shovellin’ horseshit from the broken-down stable then he’d gone to tidy up the hut (well, to check again for that will or for other things of value. Shoulda known better, there was nuthin’), and the trooper had bust in.

  ‘What do you think you’re doing, Southie?’

  He musta snuck up on foot, I dint hear no horse. An’ there I was checkin’ the back of that hutch thing in the hut.

  Pete had spun around, guilty as buggery, and stared into the face of a sergeant who’d visit the town from time to time. The man’s handlebar moustache looked too big for him, his youthful looks belying bright, keen squinty eyes that burned and seemed to nail Pete to the floor.

  ‘I’m caretakin’—’

  ‘Bollocks. You’re looking for something to pinch, that’s clear.’

  Pete shook his head. ‘Frank said he left a will, and he said—’

  ‘The smithy said you might be out here snooping around.’

  Bet it wasn’t the old boy smithy, bet it was that shit of a kid of his.

  The great moustache moved as more of the thunderous voice came out from under it. ‘Mr Putney just buried, and you just had to race out here and rummage around where you got no right to be. Yeah, and by the look on your face, the smithy was right.’ The trooper thumbed over his shoulder. ‘Get out.’

  ‘Look, Miz Putney doesn’t know Frank’s gone to God. I was lookin’ for somethin’ that might give me an idea where to go look for her, maybe find her and tell her—’

  ‘You know as well as I do, Mrs Putney was seen by Mr Milton on the Penola road.’ The frown was deep, and the moustache had stopped moving.

  Pete looked about him. ‘Tidyin’ up, I was, case she came back. Them sisters will need a decent place to live and it ain’t decent now. Look at it.’

  ‘Don’t give me that.’

  ‘Is true. And Miss Goody—that’s Miss Elsa—I asked her to marry me. I’m lookin’ after her interests.’

  ‘Well, I don’t know Miss Goody too well, but that don’t sound right to me.’

  Pete had straightened up. ‘I did ask her.’ Still lyin’ through me teeth. Surely to Christ he’ll give up.

  ‘I meant it don’t sound right she’d want anything to do with yer.’ The trooper put his hand on his pistol.

  Pete stepped back, hands in front of him. ‘Orright, orright. Place is almost too far gone anyway, but when them girls do come back, it needs to be decent—at least for Miss Elsa.’

  ‘I hear you been in the bakery, too.’

  Pete’s heart hammered. Shit, he was gonna do him for robbery or somethin’. ‘Had to pay for Frank’s funeral, Miz Putney gone an’ all.’

  ‘None of your damned business who pays for what. Empty your pockets.’ His hand was still on his gun.

  Pete let out a great sigh. He dug out a fiver and three one-pound coins.

  ‘Ain’t any of it yours, is it?’ the sergeant asked.

  ‘It’ll pay for repairs. Look, they’ll need fences fixed here, and the yards rebuilt. That well cleared—’

  ‘Tell you what,’ the constable said, and wandered further into the hut. ‘Keep the coins, give me the fiver to take back.’ He held out his hand for it. ‘Maybe you need to go find them sisters and escort them home. Heard they were going to tell relatives about their pa’s passing.’

  Pete wondered what was being offered to him. Handlebar still had his hand out so he gave the note to him. It disappeared into a pocket.

  ‘And better you go right now on that horse of yours,’ the fella went on, looking around.

  ‘What, to Penola?’

  ‘Or wherever you have to go. Because if I see you back here without those women, or hear you haven’t even left here, I’ll put you in leg irons.’

  Those flashing eyes and the grim mouth under that plank of a moustache surely meant he was all business.

  Pete had sidled past him in the doorway. When he got outside there was another trooper, mounted and waiting. Pete blew out a silent breath. Even if he had thought of clobberin’ Old Moustachio here, he wouldna got very far. Lucky he hadn’t jobbed him one, after all.

  Now, nearing Penola, the coins jingled in his pocket. There’d be an ale or two, maybe a rum in one of the coins, and then he’d think about his next move. He didn’t much like the idea of going further than Penola but more so didn’t like the idea of goin’ back without the Goody women. That trooper might not be happy. Pete could always just keep goin’, not bother coming back. But if he got Miss Elsa back to the farm, and Miz Putney—they’d both be grateful to him—he’d have a good chance of making something of himself.

  He could almost smell a brew as the first dwelling of the town came into view. Riding on the thought of it, he headed for what he reckoned was the pub on the corner. Couldn’t miss it—blokes standing out the front of a brick block of a place, pannikins and shot glasses in hand. One of them staggering over to lean against a hitching rail. There were a few kids hangin’ around. Looked like they’d been out rabbitin’. One lad still had his haul over his shoulders. Might even be rabbit stew on the menu. That would suit him well.

  Standing outside in the late afternoon, the air had turned chilly, but he’d had a rum, not a good one, but good enough, and its warmth swept through him. He had company, the men, and the rabbitin’ kids—the tall lad was trying to sell the last of his catch—and one of the fellas told him that two women had travelled here a few days back.

  ‘Publican sez they were ma and daughter. Coulda been sisters, but why say otherwise?’ the fella said, and Pete shrugged. ‘Not toffy lookin’, these two, but the older one was in better nick than the other, her clothes an’ all, like a townie. The younger one weren’t no townie. Had a good grip of the reins. Handled the horse and cart orright.’

  Coulda been them. Sounded like ’em. ‘I’ll ask the publican.’

  ‘He won’t tell yer. Only troopers wanna know that sort of information.’

  ‘Right.’ Pete backed away from that idea, didn’t want to start anything to bring any more attention to himself.

  ‘True enough,’ another fella agreed, and blew out a plume of pipe smoke. ‘Don’t get too many folk through here who don’t stay a while. You said they had people here?’

  Pete hadn’t got any names of relatives. He hadn’t thought of doing that. ‘They were comin’ to pass along sad news. Goody was the family name in Robe and Miz Kitty, the old Goody lady, gone now, her people were from around here, but I dunno their name. The ladies were goin’ on to Naracoorte from here, I been told.’

  ‘An’ why’re you lookin’ for them?’

  No harm in saying. ‘The missus, well, her husband dropped dead just a day or so after she’d gone. She’s gotta be told. There’s business of hers needs doing back in Robe.’

  Hats tipped in reverence, nods all around. Tobacco smoke flumed, ale and rum slurped. Gobs of spit landed on the dirt road.

  The lad with the rabbit carcasses over his shoulder spoke up. ‘They wasn’t on the road to Naracoorte. Them ladies was on the Casterton road when we saw ’em.’

  Thirty-Three

  Nebo looked over at Rosie. ‘She’d have found Zeke, for sure, by now.’ He tossed the remains of his tea into the small campfire. The sun overhead wasn’t as warm as it had been the day before, but intermittent cloud cover brought humidity. Sheens of perspiration had appeared on them both and he wiped a hand down his neck.

  He stared at her, wondering if she’d regretted last night. He hoped not. But what did he know of ladies? She was real keen—it had been her
idea. Shit, maybe he shouldn’t have … but what fella wouldn’t have? He corrected himself. A fella who knew better. Wait a minute. Hadn’t he said as much? That he knew better, and that he’d court her and— But then she got herself all breathless and urgent, and then somehow they were lying down beside each other and she was sidling closer to him, talkin’ of not wasting any more time. Next thing, a few kisses, and she was taking his hand, lifting her skirt—

  ‘She’s very capable, is Elsa,’ Rosie replied, and sipped from her cup.

  ‘Those directions were good. She wouldna got lost.’ He sat on a log close to where she sat.

  Rosie nodded.

  He rubbed his hands on his pants. Maybe he shouldna done it with her, long after dark last night. Long after he could hear Glen and Tillie’s snores chorusing. After he could no longer hear Fred and Alice’s murmurs. He’d heard nothing from Wally and Sal. They’d all moved their camps a little further away to let them cry in peace. Poor bastard, Wal; he didn’t know what to do.

  Nebo had been lying on his swag, hands behind his head, star gazing but not seeing stars, when Rosie had crept over to him, sayin’ she needed to be close after the dead babe an’ all, an’ poor Sal.

  When he’d woken just before dawn, she was back under her cart and had appeared to be asleep. ‘More tea?’ he asked her now.

  She shook her head. ‘No.’

  He leaned towards her, keeping his voice low. ‘Rosie, I meant what I said last night. I’m very much taken with you, and I don’t want to think we made a mistake.’

  ‘Was no mistake, Mr Jones,’ she said and her face coloured red as if a bloom had opened on her cheeks.

  That gladdened him. ‘I’m happy you think that. I also think you can call me Nebo.’

  There was silence between them for a few moments, then she spoke. ‘It was no mistake because I wanted to know … I wanted to feel—’ She stopped again, glanced at him and shifted her shoulders. ‘Oh, I was being selfish, that’s all, and because of what I wanted, I let Elsa go by herself.’ Rosie checked where the others were, as if to be sure they wouldn’t hear her. ‘And then with Elsa gone, and the way you were looking at me,’ she said, glancing at him again. ‘I—wanted to see if things would be different, other than what I’d known before.’