Where the Murray River Runs Read online

  Her breath stopped. The silk of his fingers on her bare skin caressed her thighs and his throaty moan was deep in her hair. She fumbled some more at his buttons then breathed a word in his ear. ‘Please …’ she said, and she guided his hand.

  He flicked open his fly and pulled her against him. Silk again, strong, warm and hard against her bare leg, nudged open her knickers. His penis brushed the bush of her pubic hair and she felt a slip of moisture against her skin.

  ‘Wait.’ CeeCee hooked her foot under the little stool close by and stood on it to better reach him.

  He grinned, wolfish, hungry and hot, and slid between her legs. He pushed carefully into her until she gasped. Her hands clutched his shoulders and her eyes widened with wonder.

  ‘Deeper,’ she breathed.

  And he obliged. And when he lifted her off the stool and settled her on the floor under him, some sort of molten magic occurred as he thrust again and again.

  And now at her little desk, CeeCee shifted in her seat. A little heat warmed her blood again just then as she remembered her first time, with James. She longed for him now, for his presence, his body, his love.

  How do you know if you love a man? Linley had sat there, a hopeful, inquisitive expression on her face, waiting.

  CeeCee had squeezed her niece’s hands. ‘It is the point when he’s answered all your questions, and linked all your dreams with those of his own. It is when you trust …’

  Linley frowned. ‘How long would that take?’

  CeeCee shook her head. ‘You’ve been listening to too many of our ladies. It’s when you know you can no longer resist … when you can’t resist him, his ideals, his honour, his body … When you go there of your own free will and with the knowledge and the responsibility that there is no point of return.’

  It had taken all of CeeCee’s strength to put it so.

  Linley frowned again as she digested this information. ‘And when do the babies come?’

  James and CeeCee had been lucky there. No babies from that first unprotected encounter. Other happy escapades were marred only by a short break in proceedings until James could fit himself with a sheath, ungainly as they were. Many a time they’d thought to abandon the horrible things and deal with the aftermath, but they hadn’t allowed that to happen.

  ‘When they’re supposed to,’ CeeCee said with a nod. ‘When you are old enough. When you have found the one to bear with you the duties and the obligations of parenthood.’ She thought to finish the conversation there, feeling the perspiration creep onto her neck.

  Linley had looked up, and her eyes seemed to shine. ‘I will know.’

  And CeeCee had felt for her in that moment. ‘I most certainly hope you do, though many have been fooled before.’

  Now, back in the present again, she rested her hands on James’ letter only for a moment more. Then she folded it and replaced it in the envelope.

  James. If only she would give in to herself …

  But not yet. Still more work to do.

  She sat absorbed in her thoughts before she opened her eyes, took a deep breath and reached for the quill once again.

  Dearest James,

  I must apologise that my last letter was so needy—

  Before she had a chance to write another word, the light insistent tap of a knock sounded at the front door. Clearly she was not meant to be writing a letter today.

  She blotted the few words and slid it under the rest of the incoming mail. Patting stray hairs back into her simple French twist, she headed for the door.

  ‘Good afternoon, Miss Juno.’ She gave a friendly smile to the girl on the stoop. ‘I am delighted to see you.’

  ‘Miss Seymour, forgive this intrusion.’ The girl was slightly built with dark hair and a pretty face that made one think of a Grecian artwork. She darted a glance over her shoulder.

  CeeCee followed her glance to a carriage she hadn’t seen arrive. She saw Mr Campbell’s face peer out from behind the dropped shades, and his hand come up in a greeting. CeeCee nodded at him and turned her attention back to the young woman, perplexed.

  ‘Won’t you and Mr Campbell come inside?’

  ‘Thank you, no. Mr Campbell has asked me to give this to you.’ She thrust an envelope into CeeCee’s hand and backed down a step. ‘Mr Campbell didn’t want anyone watching to recognise him.’ She took another step down. ‘No one will recognise me, not even after the day at that house belonging to Mr Wilkin.’

  ‘Oh.’ CeeCee glanced at the carriage again and the windows still had the shades down. ‘Thank you, Miss Juno. And thank Mr Campbell. I will write to him in due course.’

  Miss Juno nodded. ‘Good day.’ She took the last step to the pavement, and climbed unaided back into the waiting carriage. The driver took off after a couple of thumps on the ceiling from within.

  A flutter scurried through CeeCee’s chest as she turned back inside and closed the door.

  Nine

  Bendigo

  One thing: Ard needed his own horse. Lorcan and Liam had a couple of good work horses on the family place, mainly to pull a cart laden with produce for the markets. But Ard wanted a steed. A swift beast with strength and courage to take him—

  A clunk, a screech of steel on rail, a thud. An overhead bag dropped on his head and shocked him out of his train-travel doze. He leapt off the seat with a yelp and muttered an expletive under his breath. It didn’t go unnoticed by the two ladies opposite.

  ‘Beg pardon, ladies.’ He bent to retrieve the fallen bag.

  The young lady—pouty and pretty, about nineteen, all bosom and hip—smiled her thanks as she lowered her lashes. The old lady, bigger bosomed and bigger hipped, was neither pouty nor pretty. Her scowl soured the invite of the younger girl’s smile.

  Ard bent in a slight bow. ‘May I carry your bag off the train for you?’ he asked the matron.

  ‘No, you may not.’

  Ard inclined his head and handed her the bag. He stood back and both ladies swished past him, the younger behind the older, still smiling. She only glanced his way, a quick flick of her eyes at him, nothing more. Then she whispered, ‘Thank you, Ard O’Rourke,’ as she moved by.

  He stared after them as they left the carriage. No clue who she was. She gave one last look once she was on the station, but her guardian tapped her shoulder and then she was gone.

  Ard slung his swag across his back and fastened the worn strap, his new boots dangling off it. He headed out onto the wooden landing of the train station and dodged families waiting to greet loved ones. He nodded at those he knew, and sidestepped those he didn’t.

  Through the ticket stalls and out into the concourse, he checked for someone in a buggy who might be going out past his place, but he didn’t see anyone. He’d have to walk. Another fine reason to get himself a horse. If he was going to be here for a while, he’d need a horse for transport. He didn’t intend to be walking to and from the town daily and still get his work done. One way was nearly four miles.

  He shrugged. People walked everywhere because horses did not come cheap, and good paying work was not plentiful. But once he had a horse, he knew he could look after it, feed it cheaply enough. If Liam was home in the cottage, he’d speak to him about it. A horse was essential if Ard was to find other means to keep himself.

  By now, the family had been competing with the Chinese market gardeners for years, eking out an existence and finding work elsewhere whenever possible. With Lorc and Eleanor away working for the brothers Chaffey, and Liam riding off to God knows where, Ard had to do something.

  The railway had been finished to Swan Hill, so no work there. How many of those men would already be looking for other jobs? And railway freight and passenger travel meant the river trade would die; everyone talked of that.

  There had to be another venture. Something that would work with both the railways and the river.

  Drought was coming again. How would he manage for water? There were times the channel running by their orchard got pretty sh
allow. Everyone had to be on their guard against water hoarding …

  Was it even a good idea, returning to this place?

  That thought stopped him up short. Maybe he could plough the orchard into the ground and start again. Start with something no one had thought of introducing. He’d think on that.

  Perhaps not. How much time would it take before he could produce enough to live on? Not to mention how his father and mother would take the news that he’d razed the orchard to the ground before there were other means of sustenance in place.

  He trudged through the town, switching the swag to his other shoulder. The place seemed bigger than he remembered. It wouldn’t have grown anything much in six or seven months … He was just bone-weary, was all. Seemed like bloody ten miles back to the plot, not four.

  He rounded B Street, but he hadn’t meant to. His steps faltered. This was the street where Linley lived.

  He wouldn’t have to go past her house if he didn’t want to, he could turn around and take the—

  No, goddammit.

  He stood for a moment and eyed the length of dusty road until he could make out the plain, tidy house of her aunt’s down the right-hand side. It’d be dusk soon. He shifted his weight, and juggled the swag, then dumped it at his feet, flexing his fingers. She wouldn’t be expecting him. He wouldn’t even be welcome; he understood that much from her letter.

  So … So send a note and make an appointment later to call on her and—

  No. No!

  He rolled his shoulders, picked up the swag and slung it over his back. No time like the present. Get it over with. Bugger the niceties.

  Ard O’Rourke inhaled deep into his gut, stood tall, and began to stalk the road to Linley’s door. Head down, eyes on the dust beneath his feet, his heart hammered.

  Linley. There’s never been anyone else.

  ‘O’Rourke. Ard!’ The gleeful shout from behind was followed by a rush of hooves as horse and rider pulled up ahead of him. ‘Thought it was you, man. You’ve been gone so long.’

  The rider slid off a robust, molasses-coloured gelding, and grinned out from under a mop of straw-coloured hair swept back off his face. He threw his arms wide.

  Ard hadn’t time to dump his swag. Hauled into a bear hug, the breath was squeezed out of his lungs. ‘Sam,’ he rasped. His best friend.

  ‘How the bloody hell are you, laddie?’ Sam Taylor didn’t wait for an answer. He peered at Ard, holding him at arm’s length. ‘Not too good, I reckon. You’re going the wrong way home. It’s back this way.’

  Ard pushed his friend off. ‘And where were you going?’

  ‘Just come from the emporium. Ma wanted some fancy spice or other. Got it here somewhere.’ He patted a couple of well-worn pockets in his waistcoat and gave up. ‘Doesn’t matter. I got it somewhere.’ Sam used both hands to scratch his head, knotting the already rough shock of dirty-blond hair. He thudded Ard on the shoulder and steered him back the way he came. ‘Here, throw the swag on ol’ Pie and I’ll walk to your place with you. Come on, tell me all about it. I hear it’s a grand adventure up there on the river.’

  ‘Uh …’ Ard looked over his shoulder in the direction of Linley’s aunt’s house. Perhaps it was just as well. Tomorrow he could—

  ‘Come on, out with it. I might even have rum in my saddlebags for the walk.’ As the horse walked, Sam rifled through his saddlebags and sprung a bottle. ‘We’ll keep it under cover, but a swig or two won’t hurt. God Almighty, Ard, it’s good to see you.’ He popped the stopper, took a swig and handed it over. ‘Here. Now tell.’

  Ard took a mouthful. The brew brought tears to his eyes as it scratched and burned its way down his throat. ‘Jesus,’ he hissed.

  ‘Me da can still brew up a beauty, can’t he? Rough as swallerin’ rocks, but it does the trick. Now talk while we walk.’

  An hour or so later, north-east and past the old gold diggings, Ard could make out the stone hut on the family’s orchard. Sam was blathering on about his job at the blacksmith’s, and how he knew of something at the cooper’s, if Ard was interested.

  Only about half an hour to go. Ard would head for the pump and stick his head under cool water to wash off the walk and the rum. Thankfully, Sam did not have a full quart jug with him, but his dry head was beginning to thud all the same.

  Then he would lay his body on the cot in the house and sleep till morning. That is, if Sam ever shut up. He could talk the leg off a chair.

  As they got closer to the house, three figures stepped out, the shade of the house sheltering them from the sun now low in the sky. Dusk was not far off.

  ‘There’s Chinamen,’ Sam said, and tugged the reins. The horse stopped in his tracks.

  Ard recognised them. One, a slim person, hat on his head, hair still in a long plait but his clothes the same as every other white man’s in Bendigo—baggy trousers, a long-sleeved shirt and a waistcoat.

  ‘It’s Mr Ling and his sons.’ Ard’s mind was working. No one knew he was coming home. What were they doing here?

  The sons separated a little from their father. As Ard and Sam came closer, the three gave slight nods in greeting.

  Ard returned the greeting, first to Mr Ling and then he nodded to the sons. They were cheerful, black-haired lads in their late teens who only spoke halting English. Ard spoke none of their language.

  Sam stood swaying by his side. ‘Should I be scared?’

  ‘If your shadow jumps up.’

  ‘Funny bugger.’ Sam scowled. ‘Think I’ll sit over here.’ He wobbled towards a lone golden wattle and sank, sprawling under its shade.

  ‘Mister Ard.’ Mr Ling glanced at Sam and returned his calm regard to Ard. ‘Your father and your uncle speak to me of selling this land.’

  Ard thought it was the other way around. No matter. ‘They have told me of it, Mr Ling.’

  Mr Ling had long ago dropped the custom of skirting the main business at hand with polite small talk. And no one expected it of him.

  ‘My offer is seventy pound. You tell them.’

  Ard kept his expression bland. Seventy pound. Just over half of what his neighbour got a year ago. ‘Thank you, Mr Ling. I will write my father of your offer.’

  ‘He like that offer.’

  Ard didn’t think so. ‘A letter will take a week to get to him, Mr Ling. I will write tomorrow.’

  ‘You telegram Swan Hill to your uncle.’ Mr Ling lifted his chin.

  Ard decided the conversation was closed. He nodded. ‘I will. Good day.’

  Mr Ling stiffened. ‘Good day.’ He flicked a glance at his two sons, and the three walked back behind the house and over the paddocks lined with Lorcan’s fruit trees.

  Clearly, they’d been checking over the place. Why else would they have been on the property?

  Ard watched them take their time. Seventy pounds. But the bargaining had begun. The pressure would now be constant, perhaps weekly for a short time, then twice a week. All the time the original offer still being made.

  He felt his blood race. Perhaps life here was coming to a close after all.

  Sam rose to his feet, holding on to a tree branch. ‘He’s an old terror, that one.’ Pie stood patiently alongside, his head dipping to nip green shoots at his feet until Sam reached for the reins.

  Ard looked over at Sam. ‘Come on. Getting too dark for you to find your way home now.’ He waited as Pie led his friend to the door of the hut. Sam tied the horse to a post, wobbled a bit and pressed his forehead to the horse’s head.

  Ard patted Pie’s sturdy neck. He was a good horse and he knew his master well. He untied the swag and dropped it to the ground. He ran his hand down Pie’s solid flank then loosened the girth and removed the saddle. He took it and the swag inside with him.

  Sam was worse for his father’s grog than Ard was. He followed, staggered inside the hut and lay on the floor. ‘I’ll be right in a minute.’

  Ard stepped over him to set the saddle in a corner and dropped the swag on top. He grabbed an old blank
et and a piece of worn old shirt fabric, stepped over Sam again and went outside to Pie. After a swift rub down, he threw the blanket over the animal, and grabbed the milk pail by the door. He filled it with river water from the channel pump, and set it by the horse. ‘Faithful boy.’ He kissed the horse’s muzzle then headed back inside.

  Ard stepped over Sam once more and went to the fireplace. The rule was that whoever was last to leave the hut left fixings for the fire ready to go. He felt along the rough stone mantelpiece for the book of matches—a small, treasured flip-top little fold of stiff paper, kept dry at all costs. He scraped a match with a flick along the stone. A lick of flame crackled and brightened the room. He touched it to the leaves and twigs and old papers in the fireplace. Ard had no clue how long it had been set—Liam could have been gone weeks or months—but the flames grew steadily. He waited a bit before loading on the heavier sticks, and finally with enough logs to burn through the night.

  By the time it had well and truly caught, Sam was snoring. Ard looked about the hut. No food to be seen, no tins of bully beef, no jerky wrapped in paper.

  Sleep.

  He pulled off his old boots and examined them. Still good for a few more wears before he wore in his new pair. He emptied his pockets and stashed the letters on the mantel. He flopped on the single bunk—a low narrow timber frame with rawhide strips stretched under piles of wool skins.

  He was hungry, dirty and stinking, but nothing had felt so good in days.

  Ten

  Bendigo

  Linley opened the creaking gate to her front yard and trudged the path to climb the step to the front door. She did have her key, but three trips today already with baby Toby to Mrs Lovell were wearing thin and she couldn’t be bothered fumbling for it inside her pinafore pocket. She knocked instead and imagined she heard CeeCee’s swishing skirts coming down the hallway.

  Some bread and cheese would be waiting for her. Then both she and CeeCee would make the evening journey on foot to pick up the baby and bring him home to settle in for, hopefully, an uneventful night.