Wild Lands (31 page)

‘I'll be delivering it so you'll know in good time, Kate.' He pushed his hat back on his head and gave her a cool appraising
gaze. ‘I might be inclined to settle down. Find me a few acres in the Cowpastures. I've got coin enough for it. You might be interested in joining me. I could teach you a few things that I've no doubt you've been missing out on to date. Things that I doubt that Reverend of yours could.'

Kate tried to answer but found her tongue all tied and twisted.

Mr Southerland burst out laughing. ‘Don't worry, lass, I'm not the marrying kind. I'll not besmirch your honour, although you could do with a good besmirching.'

‘Come on, Southerland,' Mr Hardy called. ‘You as well, girl, you're not paid to do nothing.'

The shepherds were following the sodden sheep back down towards the valley. Through the timber, glimpses of Mr Callahan's blue twill trousers and check shirt moved in and out of the brush, the tail of the mob with their bulky grey-white bodies gradually disappearing from view. With their departure, the area grew quiet. There was not a breath of wind, not even a zephyr, to stir the leaves.

Kate walked to the water's edge and sat on an upturned log. She knew she should be rushing back to the huts but the thought of leaving this place when the wool went to market was more than distracting. The piece of leather holding together the sole of her shoe had come loose. Untying it, she rested her bare feet in the water, wiggling her toes in the cold stream. It felt wonderful to have a moment's peace even if her feet were verging on freezing. Cupping the water, Kate splashed her ankles. When she looked up there was a man standing on the opposite bank. For a second she was too shocked to move. Kate sat very still, thinking of the twenty feet that needed to be crossed before the safety of the timber behind was reached. The stranger guessed what she was thinking for he instantly held up a hand to stop her, slowly laying the musket he carried on the ground.

‘Who are you?' Kate called, fumbling in her pocket for the pistol.

‘I don't mean any harm, miss.' He took a step closer. ‘I'm travelling through. I came to warn you that blacks have been slaughtered. There'll be trouble.'

Kate's fingers closed around the hilt of the gun in her pocket. ‘Have you spoken to anyone else?'

‘Yes, the Superintendent at Lago Station, but as I said I'm not from these parts and he wasn't too forthcoming on giving directions to other settlers, except for this place, the Hardys' farm, am I right? I saw the sheep being walked in and then sighted the chimney smoke so I figure I'm in the right place.'

‘You are.' Kate relaxed her grip on the flintlock. ‘You best come with me up to the house. Mr Hardy will want to speak to you.'

As he crossed the creek, Kate quickly brushed sand and water from her feet and began to put on her shoes. The man was already in front of her as she struggled to straighten the flapping sole. She tugged at her skirt so that her knees were covered.

‘Here.'

To her amazement, the stranger knelt on the ground, examining the shoe. ‘You'll have to get this mended, or you'll go lame.'

His hair was dark, burnished with glints of copper. Lifting her foot he slipped the shoe on and, positioning the leather sole, tied it securely in place with the length of leather.

‘Better?' He smiled up at her.

‘Better,' she nodded. Whoever had heard of a man helping a woman dress? He wore a bracelet of shells around his wrist and smelt of grass and herbage. Kate smoothed her skirt more than was necessary. She could still feel the touch of his skin on hers. It had been a long time since someone had been so gentle. ‘Thank you.'

He smiled crookedly, one corner of his mouth lifting slightly more than the other. ‘We best find this Mr Hardy then, miss.' His hand was extended.

Kate allowed the man to help her up and then together they walked towards the huts.

‘I've seen you before,' he admitted, as the trees thinned and the dwellings on the hill became visible.

‘How? Where?' Kate exclaimed, for if she'd laid eyes on this man before she would remember.

‘It was from a distance. Last year when you travelled with the wagons. My party heard musket fire so we went to investigate but by the time we got there you were already passing through.'

‘And you didn't make yourselves known? If we were travelling in the same direction we would have done better to join up.' Kate was quite taken aback by the thought of this man having seen her from a distance and remembering her.

‘We weren't, so we kept on going.'

‘But, you're here now,' Kate pointed out, wondering at her boldness.

‘Yes,' the man smiled, ‘I am. What's your name?'

‘Kate Carter. What's yours?'

He ignored her question. ‘And what's a woman like you doing in these untamed lands?'

Kate looked across at her companion and liked what she saw. He was softly spoken with the speech of the educated and he seemed genuinely interested. ‘Surviving,' she finally replied. ‘And you?'

‘Pretty much the same, although I'd not expected to meet a girl like you out here.'

‘Maybe I could say the same of you?' Kate countered playfully. They had slowed in their walk, although Kate was unsure who'd done so first.

‘Maybe.'

Heavens, Kate thought, what had come over her? What would this man think of her, dallying as she was with a stranger? She'd never dallied with anyone, ever, except for maybe Major Shaw, and she didn't know if that was the same as this. It didn't feel the same. This is ridiculous, she decided. ‘It's not far now,' she told her companion, increasing her pace.

Mr Hardy was sitting on the verandah, drinking tea. On seeing Kate and the stranger, he stuck his hat on his head and stomped down the length of floorboards, a pistol in his hand.

‘This man's come to warn us about the natives, Mr Hardy,' Kate explained, realising that he hadn't given his name.

‘Who are you?'

Kate looked apologetically at the man by her side. One could always rely on Mr Hardy to be blunt.

He wiped at the sheen of perspiration on his brow. ‘I'm travelling through. Blacks have been slaughtered, women and children, to the south and I heard word that a half-caste by the name of Mundara is itching for trouble.'

‘We heard about the killings.' Mr Hardy wrinkled his nose and spat on the ground. ‘But I haven't heard of this Mundara. Anyway, he's the least of our problems. There's fighting going on everywhere and it'll only get worse now.'

‘The Superintendent at Lago didn't seem too interested in spreading the word to others. Yours is the only place he mentioned.'

‘That's because everyone knows the blacks are uppity and no-one's sure who led the last attack but they stirred the blacks up good and proper, so any man in his right mind is keeping 'imself to 'imself.'

The two men eyeballed each other.

‘Perhaps you'd like some tea,' Kate offered. It was not her place to do so, but fortunately neither Mrs Hardy nor the child had appeared to commandeer the conversation and surely a hot drink on a cold day should be extended to a traveller. ‘I'll fetch a cup,' she said and walked quickly towards the kitchen hut.

On return the two men were still standing where Kate had left them. She poured tea from the pot on the rickety table and topped up Mr Hardy's drink before carrying the pannikins out onto the flat where the men stood.

‘So why don't you have a horse then?'

The stranger thanked Kate for the tea and took a sip. ‘Snake bite. It happened some miles back.'

‘And your companions?'

‘Resting. I'm travelling with an older man in our party. We'd hoped to cross the mountains to the sea before winter set in, but were delayed.'

Mr Hardy took a sip of the tea before tossing the remnants on the ground. ‘The sea? There ain't nothing up this way. You've come too far north. You best turn back and make your way to Port Macquarie if it's the sea air you're after. It's the closest settlement on the coast. You did lose your way.'

‘Yes,' the man agreed, warming his hands on the tin cup while looking at Kate. ‘I reckon we did.'

‘I can't offer you much in the way of stores.' Mr Hardy wiped his nose on the back of his hand. ‘The blacks raided us some weeks back, near cleaned us out.'

‘Thanks for the offer, Mr Hardy, but we're pretty self-sufficient.'

‘Really?' His brow wrinkled. ‘Well, that's more than I can say for most of us. You better stay for a feed then. Mrs Horton isn't the best in the kitchen but she can turn out something that will fill a man up.'

‘Thanks, but I can't. I have to get back to my party. They'll be wondering where I am and I don't want them wandering off.'

‘No, indeed,' the older man agreed. ‘I've heard tell plenty of stories of men who've got lost in the bush. You know the way then?'

‘I do.' He passed his empty pannikin to Kate, holding her gaze for longer than necessary. ‘Thank you.'

Kate wanted to say something, but she was at a loss for words. He was a stranger after all.

‘Keep an eye out for blacks,' Mr Hardy warned.

Adam dipped his chin to Kate. ‘I will. Take care, miss.'

‘And you,' she replied, clutching the warm pannikin.

‘Who was that man?' Mrs Hardy limped out onto the verandah as the stranger walked away. ‘I heard voices but I didn't realise we had a visitor. You should have said something, Samuel, offered him a bed for the night, to dine with us, to –'

‘I did that but he had to be on his way, Sarah. He only came to warn us that the blacks were uppity.' Mr Hardy resumed his seat at the verandah table. ‘Everyone knows that.'

Kate watched as the man walked swiftly downhill past the fledgling orchard and began to head across the valley.

‘But who is he? Where is he from? What's his name?' Mrs Hardy was curious.

‘He's a fool that's lost, Sarah. He was trying to make his way to the sea.
The sea
. Port Macquarie is miles to the south.'

‘Oh dear,' his wife answered.

‘Exactly.'

Outside the kitchen Kate waited for the man to fade to a distant speck on the far side of the valley. Even when he'd finally disappeared she kept watching, as if expecting him to reappear. It was only a little later, in the midst of rendering sheep fat for the lamps, that Kate discovered that the feeling of distraction she'd felt earlier had left her. For the first time in weeks she felt calm.

1838 June – the Hardy farm

The potatoes were brown with dirt. Selecting one of the larger ones Kate wiped the earth free, watching as it fell in little clumps, the table growing messy with soil. Brushing the earth aside, she washed the potato in a bowl of water. As the cleaned spuds began to form a pile, Mr Callahan could be heard yelling out in pain. Through the slab walls of the kitchen, his voice merged with the crack of the whip. With each lash stroke Kate shuddered. Mr Hardy may have been a hard person but she'd never believed him capable of such a terrible sentence, especially one he had to carry out himself. Her employer was nothing like his cousin Mr Kable. In fact, in Kate's eyes he was less than half the man.

‘He shouldn't have done it. Thieving is thieving. Then he made things worse by not keeping his mouth shut.' The thin-haired cook entered the kitchen holding a large bush turkey, shot by Mr Hardy and partially mauled by the dog. Dropping it on the table with a thud, she poked at the burning log in the fireplace. ‘Damn bird. Peppered with shot and all chewed up.' A steady
stream of smoke wafted up through the hole in the bark ceiling. A line of sweat striped the back of the cook's dress from neck to waistband, where a roll of fat bulged comfortably on either side of her apron ties. Pulling up a chair made out of candle boxes, she began plucking the bird. ‘'Course, it'll be a change for them having a bit of bird for dinner, if they don't bust their teeth on the shot inside. I ain't got the time to be a-digging for it. But there'll be a bit left over for a tasty soup for the two of us. I'll boil the bones down good.'

The whip cracked again. Then there was silence.

Kate prayed that Mr Callahan's punishment had ended.

As the cook worked, sweat dripped from her brow onto the turkey. ‘He knows what Mr Hardy is like,' she began. ‘He's a fair man if firm, but you can't be expecting him to put up with the likes of Mr Callahan, not out here, not after what's been going on. Everyone's talking about settling scores.' She gave a huff. ‘Gone too far those men did, killing those black women and children. And then ride on and kill more? You can't tell me someone from their lot won't want revenge. An eye for an eye.'

‘But you've never cared for the natives, Mrs Horton,' Kate replied stiffly. The cook could make all the excuses she liked but flogging Mr Callahan was wrong.

‘Make me right frightened, they do. Nothing wrong with that. Don't you be forgetting they attacked us once, afore your time. Holed us up in here. In this very kitchen and they stole my stores. I can't forgive 'em for that. They ain't like us, but what those white men did, stirring up trouble for the sake of it.' She shook her head. ‘Daft. Just daft. I'm not one for the killing of women and children. Bit of give and take is what's needed, but now everyone's looking over their shoulder.'

Kate dropped the peeled potatoes into an iron pot and sat it next to where the cook worked. ‘It's because of what's been happening that Mr Callahan stole that musket. Surely he shouldn't be
punished for wanting to protect himself? And even then it doesn't call for a flogging. And where's the law? Have they been notified?'

‘The law? You best have a look about you, girl, and remind yourself of where we are. Anyway, Callahan knew what would happen if he were caught. He's a ticket-of-leave man, second time lucky. He didn't tell you that, did he? Thought not. By rights he should have been hung by the neck until he was dead, but the man's got more lives than a cat he has.'

‘Whatever he may of done, Mr Southerland trusted Mr Callahan enough to give him a musket when we were attacked travelling from Sydney. And there are other stockmen with muskets, men who were once convicts too.' Kate mopped the table free of dirt with brisk movements.

‘They've earned the right. Callahan hasn't. So you best keep your opinions to yourself.'

‘But he's an old man.' Kate knew there was no point arguing but she felt so useless.

The cook lifted the roughly plucked bird and flipped it over on its other side. The bird hit the table with a dull thump, rattling a bowl that held an assortment of unwashed carrots.

Kate peered through the fist-sized air-hole in the wall. Outside the chooks ambled across the dirt, pecking half-heartedly. ‘We're entitled to our opinions,' she said bitterly, her breath appeared as puffs of steam in the morning air.

The plucking finished, the cook wiped the bird down with a damp cloth and then sat it in the pot with the potatoes. Into it she poured water and added a pinch apiece of salt and pepper. A good dollop of rendered mutton fat completed the ingredients. ‘Keep quiet's my advice. They say one of the landholders has ridden to Syd-e-ney to report the slaughter. Everyone's got the willies, Kate. Who's to say the blacks don't come after us?' The lid of the pot clanged over the meat and potatoes. Lifting the camp oven Mrs Horton sat it amongst the coals. ‘We don't need the likes of a
hardened man like Callahan carrying a musket. I don't trust any of that lot. If there's an advantage to be had he'll take it. What if a bushranger showed looking for food and horses?' Mrs Horton continued. ‘Do you think Callahan would defend us with his life or join 'em? Do you think if the blacks rose against us that he'd stay and fight to protect the Hardys or us?' She glanced over her shoulder and, assured they were alone, lowered her voice. ‘This is a hard place we've come to. Keep your nose clean, that's my advice.'

Mrs Hardy appeared in the kitchen doorway, Sophie clutching her mother's hand, the mongrel dog by her side. ‘Are there many potatoes left, Cook?'

‘A month's worth at best, Missus.'

‘Not enough. I wonder what we will be eating in two months. Kangaroo and bread, no doubt.'

‘I'll do me best, Missus.'

‘I thought we'd left such punishment behind us,' Mrs Hardy began. ‘That was one of the few consolations of journeying here. Was your father ever flogged, Kate?'

‘No, Mrs Hardy,' Kate answered curtly.

The lady of the house frowned. ‘And what about you, Cook?'

‘I came across with my parents, Mrs Hardy. We was immigrants. There isn't any convict blood in my kin.'

‘Of course. I forgot. It looks a dreadful thing to be flogged. And one's marked for life. I can't understand it. We've had little problems with the assigned men.' She grew breathless.

‘Everyone's uppity, Missus.' The cook stoked the fire.

‘Yes, yes they are. Well, Mr Hardy would like you both to leave your duties and join him outside. Come on, now.'

Kate didn't move. She had a terrible feeling that Mr Hardy wanted to show them his handiwork, and she just couldn't bear to see poor Mr Callahan suffering.

Mrs Horton wiped her hands on her apron. ‘Begging your
pardon, Missus, but I need to keep an eye on this bird. I don't want you chewing on boot strap.'

‘Now.' Selecting a pannikin from the shelving on the wall, Mrs Hardy limped from the kitchen hut. Outside she dunked it into one of the wooden barrels filled with the last of the rainwater. ‘Follow me.'

They passed the woodheap and copper. Young Sophie ran ahead, the dog by her side. Child and dog gave chase to the chickens and immediately the air was filled with squawking and the flapping of wings. Mrs Hardy yelled at the dog to sit down and then reprimanded Sophie. A rare event. When the scuffle finally ended Kate shooed the chickens back to their pen with a handful of potato peel.

Mrs Hardy and the cook waited quietly and then the three women circled the two huts, and began to walk along the track that led towards the men's quarters. Mrs Hardy limped along slowly, stopping to catch her breath frequently. Ahead a tripod of wooden beams had been erected.

‘Jesus, Mary and Joseph,' the cook whispered, ‘it looks like a crucifix.' She duly crossed herself.

It was here that Mr Callahan was bound. His wrists and feet tied to the timber so that he was spread-eagled, his body stretched tight so that the taut skin would increase the damage done by the whip. The two women waited at a distance and tried not to stare at the bloody mess that was once a man's back, as Mrs Hardy limped on ahead.

‘Is he alive?' Kate whispered, horrified by the sight of her friend.

The cook grimaced in response and looked at the ground. A trail of red meat-ants were making their way towards the whipping place.

Mrs Hardy was deep in conversation with her husband, her back turned firmly against the wretched man behind her. He listened intently and sipped the water she'd brought him as little Sophie and the dog ran around the bleeding figure.

‘People shouldn't be treated like that,' Kate whispered. She felt sick to the stomach.

‘Well, then you've come to see Mr Callahan.' Mr Hardy wiped his beard with the back of his hand and passed the cup back to his wife. ‘He's alive, aren't you, Callahan?' The man didn't respond. ‘Come closer, Kate, you too, Mrs Horton. Have a good hard look at what happens to rabble-rousers and thieves.'

The two women did as they were told, although their feet dragged and they kept their heads bowed until the very last moment. When they were still some feet away they lifted their eyes reluctantly. Mr Callahan's back was latticed with deep cuts. His head sagged. Small black flies were gathering. Kate dry-retched at the sight.

Mr Hardy waited for Kate to compose herself. ‘Of course it's to be expected. Once a convict, always a convict.' Mr Hardy flicked sweat from his brow. ‘He was sent over for stealing and then in Sydney Town he did it again, didn't you, Callahan?'

‘I told you he couldn't be trusted,' the cook hissed at Kate.

Mr Hardy turned to the flogged man. ‘We housed him, fed him and gave him an honest job and after less than a year in my employ he becomes a troublemaker. Well, we don't want troublemakers. We don't need thieves or liars. Not out here. This country's on the brink of war. Whites being murdered. Blacks being massacred. You women take heed of that for I'll not be swayed by your sex. Understand?'

Kate and the cook bobbed their heads in unison.

‘Off you go.' Mrs Hardy attempted to sound lighthearted but her voice was strained, though whether from the morning's events or her illness, Kate was uncertain.

‘I don't blame Mr Hardy for the flogging he gave Callahan,' Mrs Horton mused as they returned to the kitchen hut. ‘We can thank the agitators and the do-gooders for leaving us with ticket-of-leave men. Emancipation ruined New South Wales. We'd all be better off having convicts who could be locked in their huts every
night. Chained like the dogs they are.' The glance she shot at Kate suggested that the woman was keen for an argument.

In the kitchen Kate angrily spooned leaves from a tea-caddy into the teapot, added water and sat it in front of the cook along with the chipped cup that she liked the most. Was she really the only one who thought that the Scotsman's punishment was too harsh? ‘I should take Mr Callahan some water.'

‘You'll do no such thing,' the older woman snapped. ‘We come into this world by ourselves and we leave the same way. If the Scotsman dies from thirst, through folly, instead of going peaceful like, that's of his choosing. He don't need no friend.'

Kate walked outside and stared across at the valley. The sadness and anger welled up uncontrollably until large tears slid down her cheeks. If she could leave the farm this instant she would. The lands beyond the outer limits were not the place for her.

It was late afternoon by the time the men came in from the paddock. The sun was dipping through the trees, turning the hills blue-black against a pale sky and it seemed to Kate that she was never further from civilisation than at that moment. The horse's hooves and the faint call of pigeons echoed as sweat patched her dress, running in rivulets from her hairline. Although it was cold outdoors the kitchen was hot and stuffy with the heat of the fire. She'd spent the hours since midday trying not to think about poor Mr Callahan. Kate had darned the Hardys' clothes and then rendered down fat for soap. The dough for the next day's bread was the last of her chores. With that task completed Kate picked at the drying water and flour lodged beneath her fingernails, thinking of a time when she had watched Madge doing the exact same thing in another kitchen far away. She pressed her forehead against the rough timber of the doorway, relishing the coming of evening.
Behind her the cook snored at the table. Outside the yellow dog lay sprawled in the shade of the water dray, one of the wooden barrels dripping into a bucket beneath.

The lead horse came into view, emerging from the thick bush on the narrow creek track. Mr Hardy rode straight-backed, his coat-tails flapping over his mount's rump, Mr Southerland close behind. Two unknown riders trailed him, and a man on foot. One of the shepherds. For a moment Kate wondered if the dark-eyed stranger had returned and with the thought she felt a twinge of anticipation. She focused on the approaching group. Two of the riders wore red tunics. The military. In the kitchen she scrubbed the dough from her hands and then washed her face briskly, exchanging her filthy apron for a clean one. It may not have been the man she'd thought, but any visitor was welcome. Quickly re-pinning her hair, Kate shoved unruly tendrils beneath a straw hat, picked up an empty bucket and walked outside.