Heart of the Country (34 page)

Thomas frowned. He'd done wide sweeps of the country in front of the advancing mob and had seen no evidence of other waterholes nearby.

“I rode out for a while this afternoon.” Samuel offered Thomas a mug of tea. “I told Edmund about it. That's why he suggested Jacob bring the less able animals forward. They can rest near the good water. They'll be ready to tackle that creek crossing after you tomorrow.”

“Going so far out of our way might scatter the mob,” Thomas said.

“Don't worry.” Jacob grinned and slapped him in the shoulder. “They'll be fine.”

“I just want us both to have enough stock to meet the quota.” The Smiths' sheep had started out in poorer condition than his and Jacob had suffered larger losses on the journey already: they were required to have one hundred sheep per square mile or lose their leases.

“We won't have any if they die from exhaustion,” Samuel said. He held Thomas's look.

“Any chance of some food?” Jacob stepped between them towards the fire. “A man's starving.”

“Zac's not coming?” Samuel followed his brother and gave him a plate of freshly baked damper and cold mutton.

“Not now we've split the mob. He's going to stay back till morning. He'll move the leftovers forward at first light.” Jacob's words were distorted by his mouthful of food. “You and I have to move this lot to that waterhole you found.”

“In the dark?” Thomas said. Both men turned to look at him. He couldn't believe Jacob would do something so foolish. “You'd be best to wait till morning and bring them forward after we've moved out. There's plenty of water ahead.”

“Edmund didn't think there would be much left by the time your mob has finished,” Samuel said, “and there's little feed. The place I found hasn't been touched by stock. It will be just what Jacob's cut need before they cross the next creek. Zac will bring the rest of the mob straight through. They're stronger and can manage with the pickings left from yours.”

“You're more likely to lose them out there.” Thomas waved his hand at the bush, where the last rays of the setting sun cast long shadows.

Jacob shovelled another hunk of meat into his mouth, looking from Samuel to Thomas. Thomas watched the lump in his throat go up and down as he swallowed, then Jacob's grimy face split in a grin.

“We'll be right, Thomas. Don't worry so much.” He strode to his horse, calling Samuel as he went.

“I'll come with you,” Thomas said. He wished he didn't have to, but what they were proposing was madness.

“No.” Jacob's response was determined. “You stay with the wagon. Once we've moved the sheep one of us will come back.”

Thomas watched as the two of them rode off. He sat by the fire and pulled the plate of food Samuel had prepared from under its calico cover. Immediately a cloud of black flies appeared. He batted them away and pushed meat into his mouth, trying to get some food before the little black pests carried it away. It was the same fare he'd eaten every night since Lizzie's picnic under the stars, but it was strangely comforting.

Around him in the bush he could hear the sounds of Jacob and Samuel moving their sheep until finally the ink black of night fell and all was quiet. No stars tonight, not even a moon. With a final burst of energy he checked the horses and the fire. He dragged a bigger log onto it so that it would give some light to lead Jacob or Samuel back. Then it was all he could do to pull off his boots and his leggings. He gave one last brief thought to the Smiths then crawled into his swag, where sleep claimed him immediately.

Lizzie stumbled. She put the heavy bucket down, put her hands to her hips and bent backwards in a stretch. Perspiration trickled from her brow down the sides of her cheeks. She turned her gaze west along the creek. Thomas had been gone so long. She'd been marking the weeks off and hoped it would be only two more before she saw him again. Lizzie knew if anyone could get their stock home in time, Thomas could – and he had the help of her brothers.

She had been so full of excitement to arrive at Wildu Creek. Thomas had told her so much about it and his descriptions had been right. It was rugged country but beautiful. Already she was getting used to the changing colours and hues of the days, though the terrible heat of the previous week had surprised her. She could find no relief from it. A wind had come up, bringing with it such fine dust it crept into everything. And when there was no wind there were flies, little black creatures that crawled into every nook and cranny. Lizzie tried to keep everything clean but even in their hut the dust and flies settled on everything. And Annie was of an age to pull everything into her mouth.

Lizzie lifted her head. Just the thought of her baby had conjured up a cry. She listened, but only the long plaintive call of a black bird could be heard over the gentle rustle of leaves ruffled by the breeze.

She wondered when Gulda and Daisy would return. Everything had gone well for the first few weeks. The two natives had been constant companions: they'd shared both work and meals. The night before, Gulda had said they were going hunting first thing in the morning. He said they would be back by dark. Lizzie glanced in the direction of the sun beating down from the sky. It wasn't even noon yet.

From the hut behind her came a pathetic cry. She had only just put the child down before making her trek to the creek. Surely she didn't want to be fed again. Lizzie picked up the bucket. Annie had been irritable for days. Daisy was a wonder at calming the baby, who'd become increasingly demanding with her feeding. Lizzie felt her breasts were like empty bags with nothing left to give. She was going to boil some water to trickle into her daughter's mouth. The poor little mite was probably as thirsty as she was hungry.

Lizzie set the bucket by the fire in a swirl of ash: the breeze had picked up. She covered it with the calico bag to keep out the dust and tied down the sides so it wouldn't blow off.

Inside the hut the air was cooler. Annie gave a sharp cry; her arms flailed against the side of the cradle then flopped. Lizzie stretched a hand to the baby's forehead then tugged back the blanket. Annie was burning up. Her clothes were soaked.

“No, no,” Lizzie muttered. There was something very wrong.

She scooped Annie from the cradle, laid her on the bed and stripped her. Her soiled napkin was streaked with blood.

“Dear Lord, help us,” Lizzie said.

She ran outside for fresh water and bathed the listless baby before wrapping her again. Lizzie put Annie to her breast. She prayed there would be some sustenance for her child. Annie made several feeble attempts to suck then fell back, limp in her arms.

Lizzie closed her eyes and said a silent prayer over her daughter. She wanted to hold her close but the baby was so hot in her arms. Lizzie thought of Thomas, but he wasn't here to help her. She had to face this fight alone.

The sun beat down on the little hut, raising the temperature inside, but it was still better than being out where the only respite was the shade of the gums. Out there Lizzie would have to battle the dust and the flies. She kept Annie as cool as she could, bathing her arms and legs and trying to trickle the cold boiled water down her throat. In spite of her efforts, Annie burned with fever and the vile liquid kept coursing from her little body. Lizzie was running out of garments and linen.

By evening, Annie finally drifted into a deeper sleep. Lizzie was exhausted. She gathered up the soiled garments and linen. If she could get them washed she would have supplies for the next day. She couldn't bear the thought of her precious baby lying in filth.

Outside the air was fresh and cool. She placed her hands on her grumbling stomach. How long since she'd eaten? She wasn't sure but she felt too tired now to care. She built up the fire and boiled more water. While she was at it she made herself some tea and cut a slab of the bread she'd made the day before. She didn't feel hungry but she knew she had to keep up her strength to be able to look after Annie.

The next morning dawned with the promise of another hot day. Lizzie had barely slept. She staggered outside to gather some of the things she'd strung on the clothesline. Pains gripped her stomach. She scrabbled to reach the hole Thomas had dug away from the hut. Waves of heat coursed through her. To her horror, like Annie, she passed vile liquid threaded with blood. Lizzie knew she too had whatever ailed her baby.

She dragged herself to a tree and propped herself against its cool thick trunk. If she could just shut her eyes for a short time she thought she'd feel better, but doubt niggled.

Lizzie woke to gentle hands shaking her.

“Thomas?” she moaned.

“Mrs Lizzie?”

Through bleary eyes Lizzie took in the concerned face of Gulda. She turned her head at Annie's feeble cry close by. Daisy was rocking the baby in her arms, trying to calm her.

“How long have I been here?” Lizzie pushed herself forward and immediately the pains gripped her. She remembered the bouts of diarrhoea. She hadn't been able to crawl far.

Daisy put Annie to her breast. Lizzie flopped back in agony: even though Annie's sucking was pathetic it felt like claws pulling at her burning breasts. She knew there was little there to give her baby.

Daisy lifted Annie away. Immediately she began to cry again. The two natives exchanged words then Gulda was lifting Lizzie and carrying her to the creek well downstream where the water flowed quickly past deep pools. Daisy handed Annie to him. The baby's wails slowly retreated as Gulda moved away. Daisy began to remove Lizzie's clothes. The cold of the water was a shock and a relief all at the same time.

Lizzie remembered little about the next few days. Every time she woke she felt hot and her stomach would be gripped with pains. Daisy or Gulda were always nearby. They put cool cloths on her brow and sometimes gave her a vile-tasting liquid to drink. One of them always held Annie. Lizzie could only slip back into the sleep that was her release.

Sounds of movement outside woke Lizzie from a deep sleep. It took a moment for her to remember where she was. She rolled over to look at the cradle beside her bed. It was empty. She struggled to her feet then sat a moment waiting for the room to stop spinning. A fire crackled and she could hear the soft murmuring of voices. Thank goodness for Gulda and Daisy. They would have Annie with them. She moved outside and squinted in the daylight. How many days had she been sick? At least the sun was hidden behind a thick bank of clouds. Lizzie sucked in the fresh morning air. Even though she felt so weak it was good to be out of the hut.

Gulda was bent over the fire, where the big pot they used for water was steaming.

Lizzie knew she must try again to get some fluid into Annie.

“Mrs Lizzie.” The native stood and studied her, his face full of concern.

“Where's Annie?”

As she asked, Lizzie saw Daisy coming from the direction of the creek. She held a tiny bundle in her arms. Daisy's dark face was shining with tears.

Lizzie's heart thumped in her chest. She took two stumbling steps towards Daisy and then her world went black.

The sound of a wagon rumbling woke Thomas from a deep sleep. He sat up and peered around, stretching cramped arms and legs. The light was hazy and the birds were silent and yet he knew it was morning. The wagon was still beside him. Perhaps the rumbling noise had been in his dreams.

There was no sign of Jacob or Samuel and the fire had burned down to a few coals. Normally, Samuel would have porridge cooking for breakfast by now. Another rumble echoed across the sky. That was the noise that had woken him. He looked to the north and a flash of light briefly lit the dull early morning sky. Thomas pulled on his leggings and boots and strode to his horse. It wasn't the thunder and lightning that worried him, it was the creek crossing ahead. If rain was falling on the hills he had seen for himself that it didn't take long for it to turn trickling creeks into raging torrents.

He saddled his horse. Hobbled nearby, the other horses shifted restlessly. He hoped Samuel would make it back swiftly to deal with them and the wagon but Thomas didn't have time. He had to reach Edmund and get the sheep across that creek.

By the time he got to the edge of the mob, the thunder was louder and the lightning flashes much closer.

Edmund didn't waste words on greetings. “Where are the others?”

“No sign of any of them.”

“Zac should have had his mob up to the wagon by now.”

“I know but I couldn't risk going back. If we don't get this mob across the creek we might have to wait days.”

Edmund opened his mouth but Thomas didn't wait to hear. He urged his horse on. Edmund could blather all he liked but for now they must move the sheep forward.

Just as the lead animals reached the creek, thunder boomed overhead and lightning forked at a nearby gum. Thomas could see the creek was already running faster. They drove the sheep across in any way they could. In between rolls of thunder, the air was full of bleating, whistling, shouting and cracking whips. There was no time for gentle persuasion. His mob would probably scatter in all directions on the other side but Thomas would deal with that later.

Finally the last one was across. Edmund brought his horse to a stop beside Thomas. “You follow them over. I'm going back to help my brothers.”

Thomas looked to where the last of his sheep were scrabbling up the bank on the other side. The water was steadily rising. He flinched as another deafening roll of thunder sounded overhead and then large drops began to fall.

He turned his horse back. “I'll come with you,” he yelled.

Edmund nodded and rode ahead.

They hadn't gone far when they came across Isaac's leading sheep. He was pushing them and the driverless bullock dray forward – doing the job of two men with fearless determination.