Daughter of Australia (47 page)

Leonora closed her eyes. With the lack of sight, her ears heard more and listened. There was another sound—a muffled one behind the rhythmic swing of the clock's pendulum. She opened her eyes and tried to focus on the dull drumming. It was coming from outside. She cursed the clock to quiet. There it was again—a shout or a horse or a yell. Her flesh iced. There was anger in the noise. A distant laugh. A voice.
Alex.

Leonora shot out of bed. Vertigo seized and she grabbed the bedpost for support. A knife ripped at her stomach; her mouth gasped for air. She forced her legs to move against the agony. At the stairs, she hugged the banister with two hands. Something warm trickled down her inner thighs. A cry left her lips.

The steady beats from outside grew louder. She tore her thoughts from her body and propelled herself through the rooms, through the open front door. The sun flashed in her eyes as she stumbled to the verandah. The sounds stopped. Her eyes focused. “
No!
”

Alex stood at the drive; standing before him were Beecher and Russell. Between them, a man stood hunched over, his arms pinned behind his back. The two roustabouts saw Leonora, their faces suddenly shamed and contrite. They let go of the body and it dropped with a lifeless thud into the dust. Alex stepped back, wiped his bleeding nose and looked with pleasure at his red, raw hand. He bowed to Leonora and waved a hand out toward the slumped body. “Your prince!” Alex laughed between labored breaths. Beecher and Russell backed away.

Leonora screamed. She tried to move, but her insides cramped in roped knots.

The smugness washed from Alex's face and his jaw fell slack. “You're bleeding.”

Leonora looked down at the growing circle of blood. The world was made of blood. Blood. James. Pain. Blood! Claws ripped. She doubled over and collapsed upon the steps.

A horn blasted from the road, grew louder and more urgent as the two vehicles sped closer, the honking quick and high as a goose searching for its young. Beecher and Russell ran off. A police truck drove in first and Tom jumped out before the wheels slowed. “You fuckin' bastard!” Tom dived at Alex. The men fell to the ground with fists buried and jabbing at any skin or bone within reach.

Two men bolted from the police car and worked to pry Tom off. As they held him, Alex recovered, landed a hard blow to the side of Tom's face. The sheriff grabbed Alex hard by the shirt. “That's enough!” he ordered. Alex jerked away from the hold and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, his chest heaving and his lips twisted.

Tom struggled as the deputy fiercely screwed his elbow up to his shoulder blades. “Let me go, you fuckin' . . . !” he hissed under his breaking arm, and slammed his head back into the deputy's face.

The officer dropped Tom's wrist and clutched his nose with his hand before reaching for his gun, his round face red and crazed. “So help me, I'll kill yeh!”

The sheriff smacked the gun. “Enough, I said! Jesus Christ, Murphy!” The sheriff peered at the ring of angry men. “Everybody just settle fer a fuckin' minute!” he shouted. “Somebody wanna tell me what the hell's goin' on?”

Tom knelt down next to James and turned his body over, the face motionless and caked with blood. The sheriff looked hard at Alex. “What's this all about, Alex?”

Alex rubbed his jaw and grinned. “Son of a bitch broke into my safe.”

Tom stepped forward menacingly. “You lyin' bastard!”

“Check his pockets!” Alex ordered. “Go on. See for yourself.”

The sheriff knelt next to James, pulled out the wad of bills from the hip pocket. From the other he pulled out a gold watch, read the inscription on the back.

Tom's eyes danced wildly. “He fuckin' planted it!” Tom lunged at Alex's smirking face again, but the deputy held him tight by the elbows. “Can't you see what he's doin'?” he yelled.

The next car stopped with a screech. Meredith ran out the passenger side, her dress hunched up around her knees. Dr. Meade ran after her in a stilted gait while he held his hat to his head and his medical bag in his fist. He leaned over James, checked his pulse.

Meredith squeaked, her heavy figure staring agape at the big house. All eyes shifted to her focus. “Mrs. 'Arrington!”

Leonora felt the hands upon her skin, felt someone pry her fingers from her abdomen. She opened her eyes, saw the scared faces around her converge and distort as if she were looking through a glass bowl. She followed their gaze to her dried, red hands and the saturated dress beneath them. Her mouth fell open, her throat closed. She met Meredith's sorrow-filled eyes and the woman turned her face away. And then the world took shape, the lens of her vision widened. She saw past the doctor to the drive, saw Alex and the police and Tom. She saw James still unconscious. “James!” she tried to scream, made a weak, incomprehensible wail.

Dr. Meade pushed her down. “Be still, Mrs. Harrington!” He held her arm with one hand and dug in his bag with the other. “Hold her,” he directed Meredith.

Leonora fought to free herself. “Tom!” she shrieked. “
Tom!
”

Tom broke from the deputy and pushed past Meredith. His face turned white with the sight of blood. Leonora scratched for his arm. “James?” she cried.

“He'll be orright.” Tom squeezed her hand.

Something pricked her arm. She turned and stared at the needle. “No!” she shouted, struggled from the doctor's grip.

The doctor pulled out another syringe and aimed it in the air. “You need to rest!”

“My baby!”

“Ain't no baby!”

The needle stabbed again. Her arm turned to lead, the heaviness spreading up her shoulder. She pulled weakly at Tom, who was fading by the second. “Don't leave James alone with those men!” she begged, her words slurring. “Don't leave him!”

Tom nodded rapidly, his eyes wet. He turned to Meredith. “I'll stay wiv 'er!” she growled as rough as a guard dog. “Mr. 'Arrington won't touch 'er.”

Tom was leaving. Meredith faded. The doctor and his needles disappeared. Through slit lids she searched the darkness for James's body. Her mouth opened and closed like a fish set upon dry land before the world went black.

 

Sharp, steady points jabbed his lung. His head bounced against the back of the seat.
Thump. Thump. Thump.
James moaned. He tried to open his eyes, but only one allowed a slit of vision.

“You orright, mate?” Tom asked quietly, his voice deep and low.

James bent forward and hot pokers burned his insides. He gasped with the thrust of pain and leaned back. “
Christ!
”

“Your ribs?” Tom asked.

James nodded, winced with even the smallest movement. He opened his eye a crack again. Tom sat next to him. Two men sat in the front seat. He could only see the backs of their heads and the sweaty, unshaven necks. “Where are we going?” James asked dryly.

“Police station,” Tom answered.

“Police? What's going on—” James stopped. The pain blasted away. “Leo!” He jolted upright, hit his head against the car ceiling. “Where's Leo?”

The deputy watched him through the mirror as he drove. The sheriff turned around with a slung arm. “Sit down, James!” the sheriff ordered.

“Where is she?” James yelled. Tom wouldn't look at him.

“She lost the baby,” Tom whispered.

The pain came back bright and flashing and had nothing to do with his bruises. “Is she all right?” James choked.

Tom looked at him now and nodded. “The doc's with her. Meredith, too.”

Alex.
James grabbed the sheriff's shoulder. “You got to go back!”

“Settle yerself!” the sheriff warned.

The deputy reached for his gun, his eyes black and mean in the mirror. “Put that thing away, Murphy!” The sheriff pushed the man's arm away. “Christ, yer trigger-happy t'day.”

The sheriff turned his body around to face James. He was a strong, lean sunburned man, his eyes steady. “This didn't have anything t'do with the money, did it?” he asked.

“What money?”

“Alex planted money in your pocket,” Tom seethed. “Said you stole it.”

“What?” His mind blurred like the trees speeding outside the car. “When?”

“After they beat the crap outta you.”

The car was quiet. The sheriff nodded, pursed his lips. “Any fool can see this is about the woman. If yeh was messin' wiv his wife, Alex got every right beatin' yeh.”

“Fuck right!” growled the deputy.

The sheriff glared at the officer. “Got somepin yeh want t'say, Murphy?” The man sank down into the seat, his eyes glowering. “Well?” The sheriff rolled his eyes at Tom and James and pointed his thumb back at the driver. “Fuckin' new guys,” he joked. “Get all hopped up wiv the badge.” The deputy slunk farther, held the steering wheel with white knuckles.

The sheriff folded his arms on the top of the seat. “Ain't none of my business whot goes on between a man an' a woman,” he told James. “If yeh break the law, then it's my business.”

James leaned into a cracked rib. “Alex had her by the throat.”

“Ain't none of my business, like I said. Ain't yers, either. Men an' women got t'settle things between 'em.” He inspected a fingernail, then shrugged. “Don't care fer that rough business, beatin' on a woman. But sometimes it happens.”

James and Tom shot matching daggers. The man chuckled. “I know whot yer thinkin'. Yeh think Alex got me in his palm, don't yeh? See why yeh'd think so. Cops in Coolgardie on his payroll, sure as 'ell is hot. I know Alex well. Think he's a bloody prick. I know yeh didn't steal that money, but I had t'get yeh outta there 'fore he killed yeh both.”

Tom's shoulders relaxed. The sheriff grinned. “We'll take yeh to Gwalia to the station. Get yeh fixed up, James, bind up those ribs. We'll get this mess settled. No worries.” He smiled. “Yer good boys.”

“I got t'piss,” said Murphy, squirming in his seat.

“Pull over there,” the sheriff said, pointing.

Low, rocky hills lined both sides. Mulga roots veined across the boulders and wrapped like fingers into the cracks. A few ancient eucalyptus trees stretched to the sky. Crows, so black that their feathers gleamed indigo against the sun's glare, dotted the limbs and turned their heads with the fluttering leaves. The air was still now, hot and dusty. The flies buzzed around the open windows, whizzed in and out. The deputy left the car, his head down, and walked slowly to the edges of stones. The sheriff craned his neck, looked at the sky from the open part of the roof. “Long day, eh?” he sighed. “Where yeh boys from?”

“Wheatbelt,” Tom answered, rubbing his leg in tired strokes. “Outside Southern Cross.”

The sheriff turned around with interest. “Yeah? Murphy's wife is from there. Sweet girl. Jist had a baby, too.” He smiled as he searched his memory. “Abby? No, Ashley!”

Tom stiffened. The spots of crows stretched wings and leaped from the tree limbs into the air in a cackling frenzy. The sky exploded with sound; the air cracked in two. The three men froze in the enormous split second, stared straight and motionless. The sheriff's head dropped forward—the back of his scalp gone.

The next shot bit James in the shoulder, sent him tumbling against the side, the door opening with the thrust of the weight. James spilled out to the ground.

“James!” Tom crawled out and grabbed him, tried to drag him to the back of the car, dodged his head from another whizzing bullet.

The gun's thunder echoed, ricocheted between the hills of rocks and moved forward steadily. Murphy's footsteps were slow and methodical, his arm outstretched, his lip curled above his top teeth. “She told me it was you!” he screamed.

Tom stood up, opened his legs to shield his friend.

“She told me whot you did to her! Told me how you paid her to keep quiet!”

Tom stepped forward. “It ain't what you think.” He raised his hands into the air.

Murphy's arm shook. “
I saw that baby and I knew!
”

“No—”

“Told me how yeh forced yerself on her! On my fuckin' wife!”

Tom's arms dropped to his sides. His fingers stretched and fell limp. He stopped arguing. He looked back at James for less than a moment, his eyes clear to the future, clear with his truth, clear with waiting and surrender. “Under God, I swear I never—”

The shots came swift, deafening:

One—two—three—four.

Tom's body collapsed at James's feet, his eyes empty as glass, the pupils still. “
Tom!
” James screamed. In a white fury, he was on his feet, charged at Murphy's figure. The gun turned idly toward him. The black circle of the barrel smoked. The shots smashed the silence of the bush and ripped through his skin.

 

The sofa was firm under Leonora's back. A pillow propped her neck. She could not feel her body. Her eyelids rose and fell like cooking clams. Upon her eyes' opening, a line of the dark room took shape before disappearing under heavy eyelashes. A lazy light glowed from a table lamp, the edges of the hazy orb ubiquitous. There were no thoughts—only numb, visceral images and sounds and textures that accented the distance.

Dull footsteps traveled across the wood floor.
Step. Step. Step.
The movement ceased in front of the sofa. With a great pull, her eyelids cracked. A body blocked the light from the lamp. The pants were dark. A man's hand fanned a square piece of paper above her face, sending short wisps of breeze along her nose. The hand stopped and released the card. The paper fluttered, danced on the air and landed upon her hip.