Elsa Goody, Bushranger

by Darry Fraser

  ‘Sounds the same everywhere. Even still,’ he said.

  Elsa nodded. ‘My father always said things never changed much. Just to bid, they had to put down a twenty per cent deposit, the balance due within a month. Anyone with more money, a pastoralist for instance, could bid over the price and win at the auction. Pa was lucky early on, and grateful he’d had at least that chance so he never bid again for another piece. He couldn’t afford to.’ She lifted a shoulder. ‘But it’s all we have. And while it’s owned outright, it’s not earning anything now. I’m not allowed to secure a loan in order to build it up even if I did inherit.’

  ‘And your brother-in-law?’

  She glanced at the satchel, emptied of its contents, and at the will that lay propped beside it, drying out. ‘He mightn’t want it at all now, especially if Rosie doesn’t return.’

  ‘Why wouldn’t she return? It’d be hard finding her way alone in the world. Almost impossible if she wishes to live reasonably well. She’ll have to change her mind.’

  Elsa rankled. ‘She knows how hard it’d be. We all do. She won’t change her mind, won’t suffer going back to him.’ Warming again under that dark-eyed, intense stare, Elsa couldn’t help but remember the looks that passed between Rosie and Nebo. Remembering what Rosie had said to her about Nebo, she said, ‘I think my sister believes she’s found someone else. She is very firm in her convictions. Always has been.’

  His eyebrows rose. ‘And who might the lucky man be? I doubt he’d be in your home town, would he?’

  Of course not. The scandal of it. Elsa frowned. ‘Your brother.’ She couldn’t look at him, but she heard his little laugh of surprise. Yes, she could understand that reaction. She remembered that Rosie had inferred dislike for what goes on between a man and a woman in private, and then she’d seemed to make a complete about-face on that same subject. Surprise? Oh yes.

  ‘Nebo?’ he said, astounded. ‘That amazes me. How? Had they met before, somehow, somewhere?’

  Elsa did look at him then. He was waiting for an answer, surprise still on his face. ‘They met only after the hold-up.’

  ‘A few days ago?’

  Elsa reddened. He need not be so sceptical. It was about as long as it had taken her to become enthralled by him, Ezekiel Jones. Clearly, not the done thing, this speedy developing of emotion. And clearly Ezekiel didn’t feel the same about her. His reaction just now showed he couldn’t believe it. Her heart thundered for a different reason; thank heavens she hadn’t let her feelings show. ‘Nevertheless, she’s quite taken with him.’

  ‘And—did my brother appear to, uh, feel the same?’ She nodded. ‘Well,’ he said, and laced his hands on his knees, not far from her as she sat on the bed. ‘That would impact on your life, wouldn’t it?’

  ‘Of course but things are so unknown, aren’t they? I’m trying not to think too far ahead.’

  ‘Except for insisting on returning to your father’s farm to front your brother-in-law, and to vote.’

  She heard the note of criticism but ignored it. ‘Voting is only five weeks or so away, not a lot of time to endure whatever the consequences of Frank’s decision.’

  ‘It’s a long time if you have nowhere to live,’ he said sharply.

  ‘There’d be a bit of time after the will is read, won’t there? I only need a little time to gather myself. I wouldn’t be put out straight away, would I?’ He only lifted a shoulder to show his doubt. She flustered. ‘I’m sure a direction will emerge,’ she said, hoping she sounded strong. But her current plan was pathetic and without substance. It was hardly a plan—it was just all she had. She’d have to find somewhere to live, find work to provide a living. She wasn’t sure she’d even be allowed to keep Peppin, or the cart. Her chest felt tight. She most certainly had to come up with something. ‘For me, right now, there is nothing more important than that vote,’ she said firmly. ‘What happens with the farm is out of my control. It’s secondary.’

  ‘How can that be if it’s at least a roof over your head?’ He sounded incredulous now. ‘Think about that.’

  ‘I have thought about it,’ she cried, and that was the truth of it. ‘Even if Frank were to maintain the farm, even if he did allow me to live there, I couldn’t stay knowing Rosie was elsewhere.’

  ‘So going back is hardly an option, really.’ His mouth set.

  Elsa took a moment. ‘I have to go back. I can’t leave Robe, or stay away, with nothing.’ She knew that much for sure. ‘I’ll find a place, and work. People know me there. I’ll be all right.’

  He studied his hands, back and front, in considered silence. He was very fine to look at. The dark and wavy hair, a lock falling forward. Such a handsome face with its strong jaw and searching eyes, that slight frown, the tilt of his head … If only. If only. If only they’d known each other well enough to meet again, to explore the feeling she knew was between them. How to say she wanted the opportunity to see him again without making some awkward mistake?

  The noise from the bar receded as rain began to fall. Then a huge downpour dropped out of the sky and crashed onto the roof. Just as suddenly, it stopped. Collective male voices groaned and then laughter began again.

  ‘Maybe you’ll find that tin,’ Ezekiel said, still concentrating on his hands.

  She snapped out of impossible dreams. ‘I have no illusions about it. After what you’ve told me, I doubt George even had it with him.’ Her thoughts went to the man in the hotel with the gold in his teeth. ‘I hope that terrible man believes it, too. I never want to see him again.’

  He was quiet for some moments then cleared his throat. ‘Miss Goody, whatever happens,’ he began, ‘until you’re on your way back to Robe, I’ll ensure to the best of my ability that you come to no harm.’ He took a breath. ‘For now, you might need your foot re-bandaged. I’ll ask the publican to send a woman to help.’ He got to his feet.

  Elsa stared at him as he stood. ‘No,’ she said, more sharply than she’d intended, and struggled to get to her feet. His hand shot out and gripped her elbow as she steadied. ‘My foot is much better. Perhaps not quite ready for full weight on it, or riding, but it is better, hardly painful at all.’ She took a step to show him but she faltered. It felt sore.

  He hesitated before he let her go. ‘I should’ve insisted you take more time to heal at my place.’ He gave her a lopsided smile. ‘God knows, my kids would’ve loved you to stay longer.’

  Words rushed out. ‘If I can, I’d like to visit again—when all this is over.’ Reaching for his hand as it slid from her elbow, she was intent only on words that would not be stopped, words that were coming from her heart. ‘I’m very much taken by your children. And their father.’ Oh Lord. She’d said it.

  His warm gaze, which had been on her hand in his, lifted to her face.

  Oh my dear heavens, could he see what’s written there, plain as day?

  And by the looks of him … Good God, Elsa. You’ve just said something so, so wrong.

  Forty-One

  Zeke stared down at those serious and luminous green eyes. Stared at her wild hair, its joyous spirals of dark honey-coloured waves waiting to tumble in his hands once again. It framed her face, a face he was desperate to hold against his. His heart leapt, and he itched to grab her up and press his mouth against her throat.

  And she looked very much as if she wanted it, too. His cock had stirred; Christ, he needed to be careful. He dropped her hand as if it were molten.

  She blinked. ‘I beg your pardon. I’ve said the wrong thing.’

  He let out his breath. ‘Not at all, Miss Goody. I’d enjoy it if you would return to us. To visit,’ he qualified, to be proper. ‘I know the children would enjoy it, too.’ He tried a smile, and that didn’t work. Jesus. What to do here? He’d been thinking about how he could stop her leaving altogether, and failing that, how to see her again if she left; where she might go if Robe was no longer for her. Now she was offering—

  ‘Please call me Elsa,’ she said, and her chest rose and
fell.

  He watched a little beat at the base of her throat. He wanted to touch it, put his finger on it.

  ‘I’m flattered.’ Lame, you idiot. Lame. The way she just stood there … She had to stop looking at him like that. He knew she was waiting for him. He looked to the door. Open door, he was safe. Fool—she was safe. He wanted to toss her on the bed, slide his hand over a velvety firm little breast, and after, down those strong, lean legs he knew were hidden by her dress. More than that, he knew it deep inside that he wanted to care for her, love her, have her by his side. He’d known it from the first moment he laid eyes on her. How can that be? Too soon, too soon.

  ‘Flattered?’ A fierce blush coloured her face. ‘Oh, I see. It was forward, I’m sorry. I’m well known to be forthright. My father always told me that. I had to be that way, you see, growing up with boisterous older brothers, and then because of all the no-hopers that arrived at the door. I had to be very clear and plain-spoken. My father began to see it was probably a necessity after all.’ She was talking too fast, rattling, and her hand appeared to be waving her words away. ‘Don’t be alarmed, it’s my nature. I meant only to—’

  ‘I’m not alarmed by your nature.’ He stood rigid. ‘It’s too quick, this feeling between us. It’s too strong to make light of it or make decisions that might one day be regretted. We don’t know each other.’ He stepped back, he had to; she was delivering herself, and he wasn’t ready. Not like this, not without thought for the future. He wouldn’t just take her and—let her leave. ‘I don’t want you to make a mistake.’

  ‘Me?’ She looked bewildered, surprised. ‘I’m sure of my feelings.’ Her gaze was warm and welcoming, her small smile tentative.

  She was an open book, no guile, but he sensed hesitation. ‘The feelings are strong, it’s true, but being quick, they might be without depth. It takes time to be sure.’ Dammit—wrong way to say it.

  The smile faltered. ‘My feelings are not without depth.’

  ‘I meant, I won’t take advantage and jeopardise our friendship.’

  ‘You wouldn’t be taking advantage. I have my own mind,’ she said, her tone clipped, the smile now empty, taut. ‘But thank you for your considerations. Please close the door on your way out.’

  ‘Elsa,’ he began.

  ‘Just let me know when I need to be ready tomorrow.’

  He’d dug his own hole. He set his mouth. ‘If it hasn’t rained through the night, we’ll leave at dawn.’

  ‘Good.’ She nodded. ‘Good night.’

  He held onto his temper. Dismissed, he strode out the door and yanked it shut behind him.

  Forty-Two

  Elsa wasn’t stupid. No matter how much she wanted to pull open the door and clump down the hall on these ridiculous crutches, leave this awful pub, find Salty, and disappear, she knew she wouldn’t.

  She would not put herself in danger—or the horse—just because she was exploding with embarrassment and—and more embarrassment. Waves and waves of it. She’d let the man know that she’d jump all over him like some wanton baggage.

  She was trying to plait her unruly hair. (The bloody stuff would not be contained. No matter how she tried, her hands were shaking too much.) Now her arms were tired. For goodness sake. Frustrated, she jerked a handful high on her head until it hurt.

  But was she stupid? She barely knew what she’d have done with him if he had given in. Given in? Oh, don’t fool yourself, Elsa Goody. The man had been staunch.

  She’d ruined it. Forthright, oh yes. A forthright idiot.

  Her insides had been all warm and whooshy. And it certainly hadn’t felt like it would’ve been a duty to be endured—thank you for nothing, Rosie. All she wanted was to feel those arms around her, feel his face slide down her neck and—would those bristles scratch? What else would she feel? What else could she feel? She’d never been there before.

  He had been a gentleman. And it was true: they didn’t know each other.

  But they did. She knew him well enough. She knew him in her heart, had known him so well since she’d read his letter that had carried the awful news about George. She’d been drawn to Ezekiel, and he hadn’t disappointed. He was a kind man. A family man. His children were loved. His brothers were loved. She would be loved. She knew it. Did she dare think it? Did she dare think that they might become close, much closer, and that she would become his wife?

  It takes time to be sure. She was sure. But he was being honourable, so honourable, and she had embarrassed herself. You fool, Elsa. Fool. What to do? How to keep face in the morning? And the night would be long—it was barely dusk now—with only her self-pitying whimpers to keep her company.

  She started to pace but only limped along. Her foot wasn’t too bad, perhaps she should strap it again. The bone would have hardly healed at all, not least enough to stay strong—if she were to be rash, if she were to go galloping off on a horse like she’d just sworn to herself that she would not.

  But she was about to do something. She could feel it. It drove her. She needed to impress upon him that she was a serious person, and not taken lightly by whims of nature that were frivolous or glib. Her feelings already had depth.

  He’d be unsuspecting, the poor man. He’d answer the door and she’d just rush in and he wouldn’t be able to resist and she would have no care in the world.

  And he hadn’t said no to her. Not exactly.

  Would he think it rash? Do I care? I should have a care. I’m not married to him, he has no obligation to me …

  He hadn’t said yes, either. Had he only been polite, trying to discourage her? She held her head. So confusing. I am sensible Elsa … usually. She slumped. Oh, that delicate, teasing, intense craving down deep inside wouldn’t let go. The ache was physical, that feeling of needing something. Needing him.

  She spun awkwardly, limped full of determination to the door and wrenched it open. She crossed the hall to stand at his door. I know my feelings.

  She hadn’t the chance to knock before he pulled it open. His hat was on his head, the rifle was in his hand, and boots were on his feet. Oh no. He’s going somewhere. Breath shot out of her. ‘I was just about to knock.’ She swiped wayward tendrils from her face. Should have tied it. Should’ve at least looked sensible, and not like some mad street woman. She put both hands on her head.

  ‘I can see that.’ He smiled a crooked smile. ‘Do you need your hair tied?’ There was an unusual gleam in his eye.

  ‘No.’ Short and to the point. ‘I came to say that I know my own self and my own depth of feeling, I don’t make light—’

  ‘I’m sorry. I never meant it to sound like that.’ His mouth was set, his gaze on her.

  Oh.

  He took a step closer. ‘I made a mistake earlier,’ he said softly. ‘I misspoke what I meant.’ He reached out to slide a lock of hair from her face.

  ‘You didn’t listen properly.’ Her face was flaming. Elsa had passed her own point of no return. ‘Nor are you now.’

  He tilted his head. ‘I did listen, I am listening, but if we take this step, we need to address going forward beyond it.’

  Oh. ‘Yes. To mutual terms, perhaps.’ For goodness sake, Elsa, you have to have terms before you demand them. Nevertheless, she took a step closer.

  ‘Mutual terms,’ he said, and gave a breath of laugh. ‘And consent, open and honest. I want you,’ he said, and slipped a hand behind her neck, tugging on her hair and drawing her close. ‘Is this presumptuous?’

  ‘No.’ Her heart lifted. Her lips felt lush and her belly was whooshy again. But the rifle? She pointed at it. ‘Were you going out?’

  ‘Only across the hall to knock on your door. It might as well be by my side. There are dangerous people about.’

  A deep breath. Consent. ‘I want you to be with me tonight.’

  ‘Sure?’

  She nodded. He nudged her back to her room, a hand on her hip. When he closed the door and turned the key, he set down the gun, threw off his hat and toed off his boo
ts. He took her face in his hands.

  So close she could feel his mouth and yet it hadn’t touched her. He smelled of soap, at some time he’d washed … She gripped his wrists and hung on and he swayed with her as if they were dancing. He dipped and his nose touched hers briefly, but his mouth did not. He held her still, away from him, his gaze roving until it settled on her mouth.

  ‘I meant consent, as well, to be my wife.’

  She breathed short and sharp. ‘So soon?’ She hardly expected that. ‘Are you sure?’ She almost backed away. ‘You said it was too quick. You said—’

  ‘I’m sure,’ he insisted, and angled her face to see her mouth, to trace a finger over her lips. ‘I want you, I want a wife. You, as my wife,’ he said, his eyes on hers. ‘And if we do this, here tonight, marriage will protect you. I’ll protect you, as your husband.’

  A baby. He meant if she was to have a baby because of tonight. Something deep inside tingled and sparks flew through her belly, into her breasts. But still if she was to become a wife … ‘I must vote.’

  Eyes wide, he said, ‘You can think of the vote, now?’

  She laughed a little at herself. ‘I must.’ She took a breath as his arm slid around her waist, drawing her closer. ‘It’s so important to me to be a part of it. To have a say as a person.’

  ‘And you will, whenever you need to, that’s my promise to you, here and now.’ He held her fast. ‘Will you marry me?’ His lips brushed hers, but still he held back.

  She needed his mouth on hers again, but then it was pressed to her throat and oh yes—the bristles scratched and zinged, and delicious need fluttered when his chin scraped her neck. She shouldn’t be thinking but thoughts were twirling. ‘What about your family?’

  ‘You don’t think they’d be happy? Marry me,’ he whispered, voice rough, his mouth on her ear. The tip of his tongue slid to her nape.

  ‘I will, whenever we’re ready.’

  He paused and murmured on her neck.