Dream Time (historical): Book I (25 page)

She loved them both .
. . her half-sister and Sin, her soul mate. Nevertheless, observing their obvious devotion to each other was a pain equal to an unseen hand squeezing her heart.

Like a creek, the months flowed gently by for Amaris. Toward the end of her term, she grew so large she wondered if she might be carrying twins.

In bed at night, Francis would feel her stomach and jest that she had swallowed a melon seed. She wasn’t as agile, that was true, and Baluway assumed many of her duties.

“You want I should take the hands to the western paddock and dock the sheep tails?” he asked her.

They stood on the veranda, watching the sun come up. Her parents had driven out in their dray to take food and supplies to Baluway’s tribe. Francis had risen early and taken the bullocks to plow the wheat and potato paddocks. With the coming of fatherhood, he was acting more responsible, taking the initiative.

“Aye,” she told the little man who still insisted on wearing nothing but a breechcloth and boots. “That would be a good idea. I’ll go with you.”

His expression never changed. “You will ride?”

She laughed. “With difficulty. Saddle Wind Runner for me, and I’ll change into a riding habit.”

The habit didn’t fit, of course, so Rose had sewn panels into the jacket. Ryku was helping Amaris pull on her boots. “When my husband comes in for lunch, tell him I should be back by late afternoon.”

Ryku’s sloe eyes regarded her steadily. “You are sure?”

Here it was again, the aborigines’ amazement that a woman with child should assume activities normally relegated to the male realm. She smiled. “Aye, ‘tis sure I am.”

The slender young woman nodded solemnly. “I clean the breakfast dishes now.” She retreated from the room on silent, bare feet, her dark skin melding with the corridor’s shadows.

Feeling as if she were straining every muscle in her body, Amaris mounted Wind Runner and rode with Baluway and three hands out to the paddock where a flock of new lambs were to be marked.

The men, all ex-convicts, accorded Baluway a respect that few white men did for the aborigine: His skills as a spear thrower and sheep rancher were well known. He was not as brutal as many white overseers, and the grateful ex-convicts worked diligently.

She worked alongside the men, envying their brief attire. Hampered by her clothing, her movements were constrained. As the sun rose higher, she grew hotter.

When lunchtime came, she climbed a grassy slope to sit where she could catch a breeze. She was toying with a dandelion, watching its fluffy seeds take sail on the breeze, when she sighted several figures moving at a steady pace on the distant plains. At first she thought they might be wallabies, the medium-sized kangaroos.

With awkward movements, she pushed to her feet and, shading her eyes with her hand, watched as the figures drew closer. They turned out to be three aborigine runners.

With careful steps she made her way down the hill and joined Baluway and the hands just about the same time the runners arrived. Despite the distance they must have run, they were breathing lightly. Ignoring her, they spoke with Baluway in a rapid, excited patois.

Baluway nodded several times. Beneath his wide nose, his mouth was flattened in a solemn line. He turned to her. “The Gagudju tribe makes war on mine. Much death.”

At first, the import of his words didn’t sink in. Then she realized. Her parents were in danger—if not already murdered. “How far is your tribe from here?”

“Maybe one—two days to Hollow Hill.”

“We’re going back to the house.” She swung around and started for her hobbled mount, all the while she talked. “We’ll need more ammunition, food rations, bandage strips and ointment—”

Her mind raced on, calculating all that would be needed, how long she might be gone. Francis would have to watch the station.

By the time she reached the house, she was in a fervor to make the provisions and ride out. “Francis!” she called out and hurried inside. In contrast to the hot, sun-bright afternoon, the house was cool and dark.

Francis stumbled from their bedroom. “You’re back already?” he asked, his hands busy pushing in his shirttail.

Something was amiss in his voice. Even in the dimness of the room, she could tell his hair was mussed. Then she knew, as Ryku coalesced behind him in the doorway. She was adjusting her long skirts. Her eyes met those of Amaris. At once, Amaris guessed what had taken place. The smug expression in Ryku’s gaze confirmed what she surmised.

She intertwined her arms and stared hard at Francis. “Well?”

“It’s not what you think.”

She was trembling inside, but her voice was steady. “What do I think?”

“For the love of God, Amaris, it’s been almost two months since I’ve touched you. A bloke could go crazy with—”

“I never said no to you.”

He tunneled his fingers through his sun-gilded hair. “I know, I know. But how can a man get aroused when he fears hurting the—”

Fury, sorrow, guilt all surged through her veins at once, threatening to burst them in an overload. She knew she hadn’t been receptive to Francis’s advances the last few months. But it had been so hot, and she had been so miserable with her size, and felt so unattractive, even repulsive.

Worse, she felt somehow she was betraying Sin when she submitted to Francis. If that wasn’t a sign of someone who belonged in Bedlam, she didn’t know what was. That must be it. She was going mad, living virtually alone in the outback as women did.

Behind Francis, Ryku slipped past them to disappear into the darkness of the house. Amaris tried to pull herself together, but darts of nerves were assaulting her stomach. Everything was coming down on her at once.

“Look, Francis, we will discuss this later. Baluway’s tribe has been attacked by another. Apparently, he thinks my parents may be in danger. We’ve got to get there as soon as possible.”

“Of course,” Francis said, obviously glad to shift the focus from himself. He crossed to the mantel and took down the rifle and leather pouch of balls. “We can—”

“Ohhh!” A dagger-sharp pain ripped through her stomach, and she doubled over, sinking to her knees.

“Our baby?” Consternation contorted Francis’s face. “It’s time?”

She nodded. “It’s early .
. . two weeks by my . . . calculations.”

He crouched beside her and gingerly lifted her to her feet. Slipping her arm up around his neck, he said, “Let’s get you into bed.” A contrite grimace stretched his lips. “I’ve never been a father before. With Rose away, you’ll have to tell me what to—”

“Listen to me, Francis. Waiting for a baby to be born can take days. These could be false pains. You must take Baluway and the hands with you and ride to their village to help Mother and Father.”

He sat her down on the bed. “I can’t leave you here alone to go through—”

“Ryku can help me with the delivery should the baby come before you can get back.”

Reluctance showed in his face. His jaw tensed, as if he were preparing to argue with her.

“Francis, if you don’t go, I will—if I have to dismount and squat and have our baby alongside the trail. Besides, I haven’t had any more pains. It could well be another two weeks. Now do as I ask. Go with Baluway. Do this for me, please.”

He drew a deep breath. His lips tightened. Finally, he nodded. “All right, but
I don’t like leaving you here alone. Ryku has no knowledge about delivering babies.”

She managed a wan smile. “Neither do you.”

He dropped a good-bye kiss on her cheek, then straightened. “I’ll be back as soon as possible, if it means galloping all the way.”

“Francis,” she called to his departing back.

He stopped at the doorway. “Aye?”

“Take care of yourself.”

After he left, she lay there, watching the shafts of sunlight slip down the walls. Tiny pains nagged her stomach—and nagged her baby, apparently, because it kicked its displeasure just often enough to make her keep to her bed.

She placed her hands on her enormous belly and concentrated on the baby. By the time it reached school age, she would have to hire a tutor. Sin could teach it to ride like a true Irishman. She was sure the child was a boy. Not that she cared, just so it was healthy and perfectly formed.

She would not let herself think of her parents’ safety or of that of Francis—or, most of all, of his betrayal. Not now. Later, when she had the strength of all her resources. Later, when the baby was born and Francis and her parents were safe back at home, then . . .

Ryku appeared in the doorway. Her expression was uneasy. In a neutral voice, she asked, “You want me make dinner?”

“No. I’m not hungry. Go on to the hut. I’ll be all right.”

But she wasn’t. As the room settled into early evening shadows, her pains began to intensify. Cramping contractions made her gasp in agony. She managed to get out of bed and stagger to the front door. Clutching it to stand erect, she called out, “Ryku!”

Only the cooing of a dove broke the silence.

“Ryku!”

Another pain attacked Amaris. Her hands slipping down the door frame, she sagged to the floor. “Oh, my God,” she whimpered. She was going to give birth to her baby alone.

She rolled onto the floor and lay on her side, her legs drawn up in their own fetal position. Her fingernails dug into her palms, and she moaned. Another pain struck her, and she screamed out her anguish. Suffering with each bolt of pain, she rolled from side to side, her arms wrapped around her enlarged stomach.

She didn’t even hear the booted spurs clank on the veranda’s planking; she only felt the arms gather her, lifting her, cradling her.

“Sssh, me luv, it’s going to be fine,” Sin whispered against her forehead as he carried her back to her bedroom.

“What . . . are you doing here?” Each word was a monumental effort to get out.

“I brought over the weaned colt I had promised you.” He laid her gently on her bed and started unbuttoning her high-top shoes.

She gasped as another pain racked her. She felt as if she were being torn asunder. “The baby is coming. Now!”

A vein ticked at his temple. “Where is your mother? Francis?”

Her breathing seemed rapid in her ears. “He’s on his way to. . . Baluway’s village. Aborigine attack. My parents . . . oh, God, Sin, I hurt!”

“Ryku?”

“She might . . . be in her hut.” Amaris felt so alone, so weak, so vulnerable. She wanted to unburden the pain of her discovery of Francis’s treachery. Instead, she compressed her lips, even as smarting tears trickled from the comers of her eyes. “I called . . . she didn’t . . . answer.”

Sin leaned over her and brushed away a tear streaming along her cheekbone. He stared down at her. “Did something happen before I got here?”

He was so damned perceptive. “No.” She tensed as another pain began and bit back her moan.

“Then it’s you and me, luv.” He began rolling up his sleeves. “I’ve never helped a wee one into life, but there is always a first time for everything. Me mother did a lot of midwifing. Me sister, too. But they always shooed the men out, which doesn’t give me much headstart on midwifing for this one, does it now? Still, this promises to be a grand adventure.”

She knew he was talking to keep her mind off her misery, but when he began removing her clothing, she exclaimed, “No! I don’t want you to see . . . me . . . like this!”

“Don’t be foolish.” He stripped her skirts from her legs, so that her stomach protruded like a creamy dome just below her chemise.

All she could think of was how embarrassed she was. Then another pain chased away her embarrassment.

With a tenderness that amazed her, he encircled her swollen belly with his large, callused hands and
began massaging its contracting muscles. “The village folk would say that you have an outy, Amaris.”

His saturnine face was so grave, so contemplative, that she became alarmed about her condition, which was unusual for her. She had always taken her good health for granted. “A what?”

“An outy.” His finger traced concentric circles around her navel. “Your belly button . . . it pops out. But I imagine it shall change to an inny once this one makes its appearance.”

She saw the mischievous gleam in his eyes. She smiled, then began laughing.

“You are the most beautiful I have ever seen you, luv.”

Her dimpled grin changed to a grimace. “Oh God, Sin, it’s coming.”

“I recall something about clean linens for the wee one and yourself, but I don’t think there’s time.”

She latched on to his hand and squeezed, as the part of her she had given life to demanded the right to draw breath.

“Push, Amaris. It can’t be too much different than foaling, after all.”

His attempt at jocularity elicited a weak smile from her; then she gasped as a wave of pain blackened everything around her. When her vision coalesced, mystification, astonishment, disquietude, were all playing across Sin’s marvelously mobile face.

“It is coming, luv! I can see a small part of its head. Come on now. Push. Let the wee one enter our world. That’s it. Shhh, it’s decided it’s tired of waiting.”