by Darry Fraser
Rosie had waved but turned her attention back to Elsa. She studied her a moment. ‘You have a pink chin, Miss Elsa.’
‘I thought as much.’
‘And a sly smile on your face.’
‘Not sly. Happy.’
Rosie flicked a glance at the brothers sitting by the campfire, talking, hands waving, a laugh or two between them. They both looked over and back again, though Ezekiel’s glance lingered. ‘Perhaps you were not strict, Elsa,’ she said, her voice low and her brow arched.
‘Perhaps I was not,’ Elsa replied in a whisper. ‘Don’t look at me like that, Rosie. I was as strict as you, I’ll wager.’ Her sister’s mouth popped open. Elsa looked around. ‘Do you have any food here?’ And turning on her crutches to inspect the camp, she saw a man on horseback crash into the clearing.
‘Miz Putney, Miss Elsa,’ Pete Southie shouted. ‘Don’t be ’fraid. It’s me, Pete. I’ve been trying to find ye.’
Forty-Seven
Zeke heard him before he burst into view. A lone man on horseback, yelling at Elsa and Rosie. He leapt to his feet and Nebo took the campfire in a bound and sprinted for his rifle.
Zeke glanced at the cart, Milo still harnessed. His own rifle was there. He went for it, and although seeing no threat from a man who addressed the women by name, he lost no haste.
Nebo had his aimed, but the man hadn’t noticed.
‘Mr Southie,’ Rosie cried. ‘What on earth are you doing here?’
Zeke saw Elsa flinch, move a little, distancing herself. He eyed the man as he dismounted then grabbed up the loaded rifle. He waved his brother down, but Nebo ignored him.
‘Miz Putney.’ Pete snatched off his hat. ‘I have some terrible news for ye.’
Rosie was frowning. ‘About Frank?’
‘Aye. Dead, the day after you left. His heart business.’ He shook his head. ‘Just up and died on the floor of the bakery. They found him while they was lookin’ in the window waitin’ for him to open—’
An explosive crack rocked the quiet of the clearing and Pete Southie dropped like a stone, the side of his head blown clean away.
Shrieking, Rosie fell in a heap. Elsa tumbled over, crutches falling with her.
Nebo swung the rifle towards the scrub, but another shot burst. Blown off his feet, his chest a bloom of colour, he landed in slow motion on his back, silent. The rifle dropped close by.
Zeke was almost paralysed. I got one bullet.
‘Don’t try it, Zeke, I’ve loaded again,’ someone shouted off to the side. Billy Watson appeared out of the bushes, on foot, his own rifle aimed. ‘I got you good as dead, mate,’ he yelled.
Zeke glanced over at Nebo. Get up, brother. Sit up, dammit. Yell. Let me hear you.
Rosie, still screaming, pulled away from Elsa, trying to get to Nebo. Breaking free, she scrambled on all fours to him.
A rider emerged from the scrub, a rifle resting over his saddle. The man pushed his hat back a little as if in a greeting. ‘Afternoon, Mr Jones.’ And the grin he flashed gleamed with gold.
Zeke stared.
‘Recommend you drop the rifle and move away.’ The gold gleamed again. ‘All I’m after is the boy’s tin. And as I believe these good ladies are his sisters, I’m reckoning it’s here somewhere.’ He waved his gun at Zeke, who put his rifle on the ground and stepped back from it.
Rosie, beside Nebo, was clutching at his shredded waistcoat, blood slicking her hands as it bubbled out of him.
Watson, still with his gun aimed, sidled over to her. ‘Get over to yer sister, slut.’
Rosie screeched, threw herself up at Watson, beating his chest and arms with flailing fists. He thwacked her hard on her shoulder with the butt. Down she went, but not out. Angry keens poured out, and Elsa scrambled to her.
The man with the gold teeth had his rifle up, aimed at Elsa. ‘She’s dead if you move,’ he said to Zeke.
Zeke’s rifle was too far from his reach. ‘You don’t know who’s got that tin. You won’t kill any more of us till you find out.’
‘Oh, but I will,’ he said, aimed over towards the women, and fired.
Rosie and Elsa screamed.
Behind them, Billy Watson dropped to the ground with a thud. His legs kicked and then were still. The top of his head had a hole in it.
‘And when I get it, I’m not sharin’ the tin with nobody.’ The man on the horse reloaded, a slick move, loud, well practised. He aimed the rifle again at Elsa.
Zeke kept his eyes on Elsa. He shook his head at her but she untangled herself from her moaning sister and crawled to Nebo.
‘Had a big mouth, that brother of yours, Miss Elsa.’ The man walked his horse around Zeke, pushing him further away from the rifle. ‘Oh yeah, I know which is which of you two. Georgie-boy gave me good descriptions, he was proud of ye both. Is why he told me about your pa’s tin. How he was gonna get your farm out of a hole, make yez all rich. He just didn’t tell me exactly where the tin was. Not even when I tried to tickle it outta him with a round or two. He already talked of the tin bein’ at the graves, so I wandered along and checked around both sites.’ He pointed the rifle at Zeke. ‘Nothin’ at the graves on your brother’s place, Mr Jones, and nothin’ at yours. So no point leavin’ him alive to finger me to the troopers.’ He snorted a laugh. ‘But your brother found him before I could finish him off.’ He nodded across at Nebo.
Zeke couldn’t look at his brother. He clenched his fists, and his voice broke. ‘And Jude? Why’d you go there? Why stab him?’
‘Poor timin’ on my account. I knew the boy had camped there, but I thought the place was abandoned. I hadn’t made up any bullets so when I saw a fella was already there, it took me by surprise. Couldna use me gun.’ He shook his head. ‘He alive or dead?’
Zeke didn’t answer.
The man made a noise with his tongue, like he was geeing up his horse. ‘Ah. Must be alive. Seems I’m not real good with a knife. You shoulda said he were dead, that way I wouldna have to go back and finish him off.’ He cocked his head. ‘Or do in those nice kids of yours.’
Zeke’s heart boomed, his sight wavered. His pulse thundered so hard he rocked. I can’t move. If I go for him, I’m dead, and so are my kids. He’ll kill Elsa, and her sister. If I— If I …
Elsa had edged to Nebo’s side, and clambered on her knees to sit by his head. She leaned close to his mouth, put her fingers to his throat. When she looked at Zeke, ashen-faced, she held his gaze, then placed her hand softly over Nebo’s eyes and closed them.
Zeke’s heart broke. A roar ripped out of him as he lunged for the man on the horse.
Another shot cracked but Zeke felt nothing.
Forty-Eight
Elsa sat hunched over Nebo’s body. She dared not look anywhere but at her hand covering his eyes. Couldn’t bear to see what she might see. Her own breath ragged, she heard Rosie sobbing breathily, but the raw scraping in her sister’s throat had been silenced after the last gunshot. From Ezekiel, she heard nothing after his agonised bellow.
Was she next? Or Rosie?
Eerie, terrifying silence from the gunman.
She couldn’t turn her head. Did not want to see Ezekiel, his life gone, her heart gone with him.
Dear God. Footsteps. Boots.
A slim hand landed on Elsa’s shoulder and squeezed. ‘You can breathe, missy.’ It was Tillie. ‘Take a look. Your man’s alive and well.’
Elsa stared. Ezekiel. He was unharmed, staring at his brother’s prone body. She heaved in a breath past the lump in her throat. Reaching up, she grabbed Tillie’s hand, trying to get off her knees.
‘I can still shoot straight,’ Elsa heard Glen Barton say. She looked up and he was scratching his head. ‘Thought I mighta got soft.’ Then he wiped his eyes, bowed his head and fell to kneel by Nebo, his shoulders shaking as he bent over the body. ‘I was too late for ye, me old mate,’ he said. ‘I’m sorry for it.’
‘We seen Watson creeping around and had decided to circle back,’ Tillie said, he
r hand under Elsa’s arm. ‘Bastard woulda been up to no good. But murder? Never thought it of ’im.’
Elsa lurched to her feet. Saw the man who called himself Curtis slumped, dead, over his saddle, blood pouring from a large hole in his neck. Then his body leaned over and fell off the saddle, one foot stuck in the stirrup. The horse skittered nervously as imposter Curtis’s head bounced on the dirt.
George had resisted this man, paid with his life, all for a tin of coins, all for a worthless piece of dirt. Ezekiel reached her, caught her as she stumbled trying to step away from the sight.
Rosie hadn’t wanted Pete Southie loaded in the back of their cart, but Elsa insisted. ‘He has to go home, Rosie.’ Elsa had her eye on Ezekiel. He stood over his brother’s body.
Rosie paced. ‘But that means he’ll be in the back of our cart for three days and nights. I won’t allow it. What if we break down—we’ll have to bury him where we stop. We can’t do that. The ground is like granite.’
Elsa rubbed her eyes with her knuckles. That was true enough. ‘Yes, but—’
‘He’s got no family at home, Elsa,’ Rosie cried, still pressing her point. ‘I know that from Frank. We should bury him here.’
‘Not with those other two,’ Elsa said, and pointed at a mound made of tree branches on the edge of the clearing. ‘He might’ve been a stupid, leery galoot but he was just caught up in it, not a part of it. Didn’t deserve to be murdered.’ Her shakes had stopped, finally, and her head was clearing.
Rosie stamped her foot. ‘I insist his body stays here. Otherwise, it’s all too much.’ It sounded like the beginning of a wail, and her face had screwed up, her eyes fierce.
Glen had stepped in. ‘Tell you what. After dark tonight, follow Tillie and me, take his body in your cart to the old cemetery in Casterton and leave him at the gate. The good folk there will look after him in the morning. He’ll get buried, all proper-like. How’s that?’
Ezekiel’s eyes were red-rimmed, his face gaunt. He stood by Elsa’s side. ‘That’s a good idea. Then you and Rosie can come on to my place before you decide—’
‘Rosie needs to get home, Ezekiel,’ Elsa said softly, and looked at her agitated sister. ‘Best to leave quickly.’ She almost couldn’t believe what she was saying, knowing what it would mean to her. To him. The weight of it filled her chest. ‘I have to go with her,’ she said, hoping the tremble in her voice wasn’t noticed.
Ezekiel, bleak, started. ‘I know, but Elsa, I can’t let—’
‘Please don’t. If I wait it’ll hurt too much,’ Elsa whispered, gripping his arm. She turned to the others. ‘If someone is willing to do it for us now, we need to get supplies for three days. Rosie has money to pay. Then we follow Glen tonight like he said and leave Pete at the cemetery.’ She took in a breath and glanced at her sister. ‘We’ll head straight back to Penola from there.’
‘In the dead of night?’ Ezekiel wasn’t happy.
‘And you and Judah can bury your brother.’ Her chin wobbled. Ezekiel had said earlier that he’d take Nebo in Mrs Hartman’s cart and bury him at home on the hill.
Rosie threw her hands in the air. ‘At last,’ she grumbled, ‘someone making sense.’ She looked away, and Elsa knew that her sister felt she’d won a small victory.
‘I’ll go get your supplies,’ Tillie said then pointed to where the two dead men lay. ‘No one will find that lump over there in a hundred years but let’s not waste time, just in case.’ She memorised a list from Elsa, took Rosie’s money and on Salty, headed into town.
‘Let’s get Nebo into your cart, Zeke, before we deal with that.’ Glen tilted his head at the other two bodies.
In the cart, they covered Nebo with his swag and Ezekiel sat with him. Tiredly, he wiped a forearm over his face then palmed his eyes. Glen took up Mrs Hartman’s shovel and the pick and headed towards the other two bodies. Ezekiel followed, reached for Elsa’s outstretched hand as he passed her, pressed it to his lips and let her go.
Wielding the pick, Glen swung hard. Ezekiel shovelled out the loosened soil until the hole was deep enough. They rolled both bodies in and returned the dirt, pounding it down. Evil had been buried, and the earth would deal with it. In silence, Ezekiel headed back to the cart where Nebo lay, and hung his head.
‘Rosie,’ Elsa said quietly so no one else could hear. ‘You need to pay your respects.’
Cutting her sister a look, her mouth pressed in a thin line, Rosie trudged to the cart and climbed in. Hesitating, she patted Ezekiel’s arm and sat by his dead brother.
They waited for Tillie. Blowflies buzzed, leaves rustled, and the pure fragrance of a flowering shrub drifted here and there on a cool breeze. Time passed. Elsa was sitting by the campfire, the crutches close by, lost in thought when Ezekiel came to sit with her.
He took her hand. ‘Write to me, Elsa, after you get Rosie home. I’ll come and get you.’
‘I’ll write,’ she said, and squeezed his hand. She had to think some more, had to sort all this out in her head. In her heart. She looked across at Rosie. ‘I—need to be with her now. She’ll have a great deal to do when we get back, a lot to cope with.’
‘So will you,’ he said, frowning.
Elsa knew he could hear what she was saying. ‘But her more so. If it’s known she left Frank, if Pete told anyone, there’ll be hell to pay for her back there.’ She pressed her head to his. ‘I am so very sorry about Nebo.’
Ezekiel folded his hand over hers and took a deep breath. ‘At the last, he’d found some happiness, he finally had hope, wanted to marry. We’ll hold onto that.’
Elsa remembered the look on Nebo’s face when he’d first laid eyes on her sister. Now Rosie would have to start a new life as a widow in Robe; not the new life she’d expected. Elsa looked down at her hands linked with Ezekiel’s. Finally had hope. Her own hopes were slipping away.
Tillie returned with supplies and dumped them into a corner of Elsa’s cart. Glen smothered the campfire with dirt and poured the last of the billy water onto it. Then he headed for where Rosie still sat with Nebo in Mrs Hartman’s cart. ‘Time you and your sister was off in your own cart, Miss Rosie,’ he said kindly.
She nodded, and after a moment waved him away, climbing out unaided. Straight-backed she headed for her cart. Elsa stood and limped over, Ezekiel carrying the crutches. He slipped them into the back alongside Pete Southie’s shrouded figure.
Glen, on his horse, and leaning down to Ezekiel, said, ‘We’ll not meet again, Zeke,’ and held out his hand. Ezekiel took it in both of his but couldn’t speak. Glen called over to Tillie. ‘Let’s go.’ He nodded at Elsa. ‘Ladies, get on board and gee-up that horse of yours.’
Ezekiel reached for Elsa’s hand, pressed it to his cheek. ‘Don’t forget,’ he said, his eyes searching hers. He reached around and gently tugged her hair. He kissed her cheek, hugged her, and after helping her on board, draped the reins in her hands.
‘I won’t.’ She thought she’d feel a rock in her chest, or the emptiness in her heart, but she felt only numb. She was leaving him behind.
‘Elsa, my love, I don’t want to have to tell Jonty that I failed him.’
She gave a sob, a laugh. She had nothing to say that would change things. She didn’t know about anything anymore, only that leaving him so overwhelmed her that words would not come.
At her silence, he pushed away and trudged to his cart, climbing into the driver’s seat. He lifted his hand in a wave and gave her a long, last look before he flicked the reins. Milo trotted away, taking Ezekiel, and Nebo.
Elsa glanced at her sister who stared without tears into the distance. Dry-eyed herself, her throat aching, she thought how hollow her life would be without Ezekiel Jones in it. She couldn’t face that yet, wouldn’t weep. She’d never get home otherwise. There were things she had to do. Rosie. Frank. The farm. The bakery. Her last brother was gone. Her pa was gone. There were things … She felt the shriek rise in her throat, but she couldn’t scream. Wouldn’t.
S
he gee-upped Peppin and he trotted after Mrs Hartman’s cart. Following Glen and Tillie to the Casterton cemetery at the turn-off, she knew Ezekiel had gone on, straight ahead. Her heart wrenched. Tears came.
They left Pete Southie’s body by the gates. As Glen and Tillie waved them off, Elsa turned the cart for Penola. Now leaving Ezekiel was real.
Forty-Nine
Elsa had given up trying to draw Rosie out. The first night had only been about finding a safe place to camp. Glen had directed her to the Penola road and had given her clear instructions about how far she could travel before stopping. ‘It narrows in some places,’ he said, ‘and in the dark you might veer off the main road by mistake.’
Peppin had to be unharnessed for the night. Rosie refused to touch anything in the back of the cart that had touched Pete Southie. Ridiculous, Elsa thought. A few snappish words were exchanged before they bunkered down, huddled together on the thin mattress. They only used one blanket against the cool night air.
In the morning, drawing well away from Casterton, Rosie was still quiet—answering only when spoken to, not offering conversation. She’d taken over the reins from time to time, but never for long. She was too distracted. By the third morning, their arrival back in Robe due sometime later that day, Rosie was becoming increasingly agitated.
Home felt close, but Elsa couldn’t be sure. They hadn’t dillydallied driving back, so as the sun began to lower, she hoped she’d recognise some landmarks soon. Every so often, she imagined she could smell salt air on the breeze but wondered how much of that was wishful thinking. Elsa reached across and squeezed her sister’s hands. ‘I’m sure everything will be all right, Rosie,’ she said, then flicked the reins. Peppin picked up a little pace.
Rosie was hanging on to her seat, her hat tied tight, her face creased in a frown. Rigid, she looked as if she was hanging on to more than just the rail of the cart, almost as if letting go meant that she’d fall apart. Elsa feared all would come crashing down on Rosie if she didn’t let go of something.