Freedom's Land (29 page)

Two or three times now, on fine Saturdays, they’d arranged sing-song suppers, each family contributing a plate of food and gathering at the camp ground to sing and gossip and exchange ideas by lamplight. They built big fires to counteract the cold and dressed warmly.

He noticed that Freddie and a couple of other men had somehow got access to some booze, but as long as they didn’t go wild with it, he’d turn a blind eye. It was Irene he felt sorry for, especially tonight with Freddie ignoring her. Didn’t the man realise what a treasure she was, so pretty and gentle-natured, yet hard-working?

He’d noticed Norah keeping an eye on Irene and inviting her to sit with them. Janie too seemed to enjoy Irene’s company and once he’d heard the child address her as ‘Auntie Irene’, which was a good sign. It wasn’t good that the two boys still avoided their stepsister, that she deliberately turned her back on them, and stayed as far away from Andrew as she could.

On this particular evening, Andrew had dispensed with his sling and looked happier than he had for a while. He and Norah must have been practising their singing, because they did a couple of new duets, which everyone enjoyed. After that, it was the old favourites, with everyone joining in.

But where was Freddie Dawson?

Gil wandered round the outside of the group, staying back from the others so that he didn’t get trapped into conversations. He went right round the people sitting round the camp fire. No sign of Freddie and Len Binton was missing, too. What were they up to?

As the evening drew to a close, Gil waited for them to reappear. Len eventually strolled back along the track from the direction of his humpy and rejoined his wife and children. His gait wasn’t quite steady, but he wasn’t rolling drunk, at least.

It’d be as well to find out where they were getting their booze from, Gil decided. He waited, expecting Freddie to join the group again, but he didn’t.

When it was time to return home, Irene looked round for her husband, but there was no sign of him, hadn’t been for most of the evening. Anger had been simmering in her and now it welled up, giving her the courage to pin a smile to her face and act as if it was normal for a woman to be left to walk home on her own.

Andrew insisted on lighting her to her front door while Norah took the other lantern and saw the children home. ‘Will you be all right?’ he asked when they got there.

‘Of course I will. Just let me get a lamp lit and then you can go home to Norah and the children.’

As he stood in the doorway, she fumbled with the matches. She was so upset she was all fingers and thumbs and dropped the box, scattering the matches over the floor. ‘Oh, no!’

He set down his lantern and came to help her pick them up.

‘If it’s not one man, it’s another!’ a voice roared.

They both jerked to their feet to see Freddie standing there, swaying and clearly the worse for wear.

‘What the hell do you mean by that?’ Andrew asked.

‘First it’s Gil, now it’s you. She’s a whore, that one is – an’ if you’ll stand still for a minute, I’ll thump you and teach you to stay away from my wife.’ He squinted then launched a blow at Andrew, missing him completely and staggering into the door-post as the force of it swung him round. ‘Fight fair, damn you.’ He steadied himself against the door frame.

‘Better come home with us for tonight,’ Andrew said to Irene, keeping an eye on the drunken man.

‘Thank you, but no. You get off and leave him to me.’

‘I can’t do that, the condition he’s in.’

‘He’ll be worse while you’re here.’

‘Come here, you!’ Freddie lurched towards her but she only had to sidestep for him to miss her completely and fall on the floor, where he lay muttering to himself.

‘He’ll not harm me,’ she insisted as Andrew still didn’t move. ‘Even at his worst, he’s never laid a finger on me.’

‘Does he get drunk often?’

‘Only recently.’ She shook her head, beyond tears. ‘He hates it here.’

‘He makes that plain enough.’ He waited, but Freddie showed no signs of getting up. ‘If you’re sure . . .?’

‘I am, yes.’

She waited till Andrew had gone then turned to find Freddie had somehow got to his feet again. Before she could move away, he slapped her face hard. Although this shocked her rigid, she didn’t wait for another blow, but darted out into the lean-to where she picked up her frying pan.

When she went back into the humpy, Freddie was waiting for her, still swaying on his feet.

‘I’ll teach you t’behave yourself,’ he announced, slurring the words.

‘It’s you who needs to learn a few manners,’ she countered.

When he raised his fist, she clanged him on the arm with the frying pan and he yelled in shock, then rubbed the place she’d thumped.

‘That hurt, you bitch!’

‘You hit me first. And get it through your stupid skull that if you hit me, I’ll always hit you back, always! Even if I have to wait till you’re asleep to do it.’

For a minute they stood there glaring at one another. His breaths rasped in his throat and he sneezed suddenly.

She could hardly breathe at all, shock and fear of what he’d do next holding her motionless.

‘Y’re not worth the trouble.’ With some difficulty, he got into bed, not bothering to get undressed. He dragged the blankets over him and closed his eyes. He sneezed a couple of times more, blew his nose loudly on a corner of the sheet, then murmured something and grew quiet. A short time later he began snoring loudly.

Only then did she lower the frying pan.

She was beyond tears, couldn’t understand how they’d got to this stage. But she wasn’t putting up with him thumping her. She’d never tolerate that sort of treatment, would leave him first.

She lay awake for most of the night, staring into the darkness. She heard the frogs calling for a while, then they fell silent. She watched the setting moon send a spear of light into the humpy through the open gable, and saw it gradually move across the few pieces of furniture, then vanish as the moon moved down the sky.

In the morning she was up before he was awake. He was breathing stertorously, the cold in the head obviously gaining ground. Serve him right. She only relented enough to find him a couple of handkerchiefs, laying them on a stool.

She dressed quickly and went to light the fire and get the kettle boiling, then got everything ready for the milking.

He didn’t come to help her and it took a long time to do the work on her own, but she got the cream to the entrance in time for the truck. But only just.

When she went back into the hut, he was gone. She told herself she didn’t care, but she did.

And what was he doing on a Sunday? Where could he have gone? There was no group work today.

Andrew was working on a cupboard he was making from the wooden box that tins of kerosene came in. His arm was a lot better, but he wasn’t stupid enough to do any heavy work with it yet. Thank goodness it was his left arm he’d broken.

The wood was cheap, splintery stuff, soft enough to saw easily. He’d not have bought wood like that, but when it came free, it was good enough to make shelves that could hold clothes. The square kerosene tins were also useful and once empty, could be made into all sorts of things after they were washed out thoroughly and clear of the smell.

He heard someone walking towards the rough shelter he used to store things, and where he did woodwork and other household jobs on rainy days. It had been fine for a few days, but looked as if it’d rain later on. He saw it was Gil, so moved into the open to greet him. ‘You look worried.’

‘I am. About Freddie next door.’

‘Don’t talk to me about that one! You’ll never believe what he accused me of last night.’ He described what had happened.

‘He accused me of the same thing a few days ago.’

‘Has the man run crazy?’

‘He’s certainly not thinking straight. I’m worried for Irene. He’s not even carrying the water for her – and her in the family way, too.’ He kicked a small stone to one side. ‘I saw him walking down the track towards Northcliffe today, so I came up to ask if Norah would go over and see how Irene is.’

‘Good idea. She can take Janie with her. You’ll stay till she gets back? I’m sure Norah can find you something to eat.’

Gil grinned and pulled a small tin of corned beef out of his pocket. ‘I was hoping you’d invite me. This should pay my way.’

Andrew stiffened. ‘We can still afford to feed a friend!’

‘I’d rather contribute my share.’

‘You’ve done a lot for us since the accident. That’s enough.’

Gil shrugged and put the tin away. ‘It’s what friends are for.’

The two men looked at one another and each gave a small nod, then they changed the subject and began to talk about less personal matters.

Norah came back an hour later, having left Janie to keep Irene company.

Gil put his tools down the minute he saw her. ‘Well?’

‘She doesn’t know where he’s gone.’ She looked round to check that the boys weren’t within hearing, and added, ‘She’s got a bruise on her cheek. I sent Janie outside and asked if he’d hit her and she said yes.’ She saw Gil’s fists clench and added quickly, ‘But she hit him back with the frying pan and threatened to hit him while he was sleeping if he touched her again.’

Gil’s worried expression relaxed a little. ‘Good on her.’

‘I can’t abide chaps who beat women,’ Andrew said. ‘I didn’t think he was that sort. He was quite cheerful on the ship, but he’s changed since we got here.’

‘Well, we all know he doesn’t like milking cows or doing heavy physical work, though what else he thought he’d be doing on a farm beats me.’ Gil looked at Norah. ‘You’ll keep an eye on her? It’d make things worse if I went near her, but I can’t help worrying about her.’

‘Yes, of course.’

Norah didn’t say anything to Andrew, but it had become increasingly clear to her that Gil was deeply smitten with Irene. She hoped he’d have the good sense not to do anything about his feelings because that could lead only into great unhappiness for both of them. She wasn’t sure whether Irene knew how he felt.

Poor Gil. He looked so lonely sometimes.

18

F
reddie hardly noticed his surroundings as he walked along the track towards Northcliffe. His head was full of the cold and he felt rotten, but he was sweating and it wasn’t raining, so hadn’t bothered with his overcoat. His anger carried him along at a brisk pace. He knew a fellow in one of the other groups was selling sly grog, as they called it here. Freddie intended to arrange a supply of this illicit, home-made booze for himself, because he was sure it’d be cheaper than buying it through Len. Sometimes you needed a nip of something to cheer yourself up, especially when you had a cold, as he had now.

He got to the next group of farms, which had more land cleared than his group and proper wooden houses instead of pigsties like the one he was living in, and asked for the man who sold booze by name.

The fellow he spoke to winked and told him where to go.

When he got there, Freddie bought two bottles of clear spirit, which had no taste, but had a fiery kick. He paid his money – less than he’d paid Len, so it was worth the trip – then set off back home. But he was shivery now and he’d developed a cough, which seemed to be getting worse by the minute.

He decided to sample the brew. Everyone knew a drink was good for coughs. The warmth of the raw spirit felt good as it trickled down his sore throat. Noticing a clearing to one side with a fallen log in it, he stopped for a rest. He sat down, waited till another bout of coughing had passed and raised one of the bottles in a mock toast. ‘Down with Australia!’ He took another good swig. ‘Ah, that’s better.’

A few swigs later he was feeling warmer and had stopped coughing. It seemed stupid to go the long way home by the track when he could cut through the forest, so that’s what he did.

He felt nicely relaxed now. Birds were calling everywhere, little creatures scuttled away as he passed and in the distance he saw a group of kangaroos, with two joeys hopping around them like bouncing bundles of sticks. At the sight of him, the little ones dived headfirst into their mothers’ pouches and the whole group took off, bounding away through the trees.

He grew tired and was feeling a bit light-headed, so stopped for another rest, sitting on the ground with his back against a tree, closing his eyes for a minute or two.

When he woke it was dusk and he was shivering. He cursed himself for taking the shortcut. You could follow a track after dark but it was much harder to find your way through the forest.

It began to rain and he hunched up his collar, not feeling hungry only thirsty. He took a nip of booze every now and then to help him on his way, had to because his chest was feeling really rough now, and he kept coughing up phlegm. He’d never felt this rotten with a cold before. Everything was worse in Australia. No wonder they had to bribe people to come and settle here by giving them land.

Tears came into his eyes as he thought of England. He should never have left, hadn’t realised how homesick he’d feel.

His limbs felt heavy and he had to force himself to move forward. When he stopped for another rest, he admitted to himself that he was lost. Maybe he should stay here till dawn? Yes, that would be the thing to do. He might be going in the wrong direction. Once the sun rose, he’d know which way to go.

He was chilled through, but there was nothing he could do to keep warm, so he huddled in a hollow at the foot of a large tree, which kept most of the rain off, at least. He took another nip or two, his head spinning.

He’d done it all for Irene, come here to save her life, and was she grateful? No, she wasn’t.

He slid slowly sideways, curling up into a ball, shivering again. He’d get up in a minute or two and move about to keep himself warm. He just needed a bit of a rest first.