Freedom's Land (11 page)

‘You need to move closer,’ he murmured near her ear, ‘otherwise the blanket won’t cover us both.’

‘I’m sorry.’

‘No, it’s me who’s sorry.’

‘Whatever for?’

‘Getting you into this mess.’

‘It is a bit of a muddle, isn’t it? We’ll laugh about it one day, I suppose.’The warmth of his body was so tempting she moved closer.

His hand encountered hers and he wrapped his fingers round it. ‘You feel chilled through. Come here, let me hold you properly. I rarely feel the cold.’

She moved gratefully into his arms, letting his warmth wrap around her, feeling his breath gently disturbing her hair.

There was silence, then he said suddenly, ‘You’re taking all this without making a fuss or complaining. I really appreciate that.’

‘Well, it’s not
your
fault. And anyway, weeping and wailing wouldn’t change a thing, would it?’

‘It
is
my fault because I’m the one who got us into this. I’ll do my best to sort things out quickly and get you a proper home.’

‘
We
shall do our best.’ She’d admired the way he’d got on with things tonight, instead of whining and complaining like that Bert Grenville. Her first impression of the man hadn’t changed. She neither liked nor trusted him. She yawned and felt sleep creeping over her body, gave into it willingly.

The next thing she knew, grey light was filtering into the tent and she could hear the sound of someone hammering outside. But Andrew’s arms were still round her, so she waited till he woke up to move. It’d been a long time since a man held her like this and she’d forgotten how good it felt.

Then a little ant ran across his cheek. He twitched and as it continued to run round his face, opened his eyes and shook his head to dislodge it, staring at her in surprise for a moment. He pulled away suddenly and she realised why with a blush.

She didn’t comment on the change in his lower body but was glad for this proof that he did desire her. It had been worrying her more than a little that he’d showed no signs of wanting her except for that one kiss before they left England. Edging away, she reached for her clothes but quickly abandoned the attempt to dress under the blanket and after checking to make sure the others were asleep, got up to do the job properly, standing up.

The combinations she was wearing under her nightdress reached only to her knees and she saw Andrew’s eyes linger on the swell of her full breasts, which she knew showed clearly under the fine cambric. She’d never be able to achieve the slender boyish look that was fashionable now, that was sure, not with her figure. Feeling warmth in her cheeks but not trying to hide herself from him, she slipped on her petticoat and a sensible, sleeveless cotton frock. It warmed up quickly here and even at this hour of the morning she didn’t feel the need for a cardigan.

When she went outside, she saw to her immense relief that the women’s latrine was shielded from view. The hammering she’d heard had been Gil. He’d stuck poles into the ground on three sides with a plank joining them, and was just finishing nailing leafy branches to this.

He took a step backwards to check his work, then turned and saw her watching. With a grin, he flourished an invitation to her to use the convenience before starting building the same sort of fence round the men’s area.

When she’d finished her ablutions, she smiled up at the weak morning sunshine. Would she ever get enough of it after the grey, rainy weather she’d experienced so often in Lancashire? Then she thought of how much there was to do and went to wash her hands and face in the creek at a place their foreman had marked out, just below where they took their drinking water. She flapped her hands to dry them as she walked back to the tent to rouse the children.

It was going to be a very busy day, she was sure. Well, she didn’t mind that.

Bert woke early, or rather, he was woken by someone hammering away, on and on. No consideration, some folks hadn’t. He’d slept badly, as usual, but at least he hadn’t had one of the yelling, shouting nightmares that were his legacy from the war. He stared at Susan, still asleep next to him. Even now, she was frowning. She’d changed so much since their marriage.

Well, so had he. The war was to blame for a lot of unhappiness in the world. Now he’d survived it, he intended to get what he could for himself and his family, if they ever had any family, that was. Susan wasn’t very fond of bed play, damn her.

She was still asleep, but he decided to get up and start work. No use lying here thinking. He hoped things would go better here today, but didn’t feel optimistic. So far, this group settlement thing had been one big mess after another.

When he left the tent, he saw what had caused the banging. Gil was screening the latrines. Bert nodded approval and went to use the men’s, then began to help him, picking up suitable branches and handing them to the foreman. ‘What are we going to do today?’

‘Start building the humpies.’

‘Humpies?’

‘The temporary shacks for you to live in. You need them as much to shield you from the sun at this time of year, because we won’t get much rain till April. That’s what that pile of corrugated iron is for, walls and roofs.’

‘They cheated us.’

‘So you said yesterday. How long are you going to harp on that? What’s done is done and we have to make the best of it.’

Bert scowled at him but continued to hand him the leafy branches. ‘What do we do when the leaves drop off these?’

‘Pick more branches and thread them through. There’s no shortage of branches round here, but our leaves are leathery, especially the gum leaves, so they’ll last longer than the soft English leaves would.’

Bert took a leaf or two and tested that out by tearing them up, then continued helping.

Gil bit back a sharp comment.

They worked in silence for a few more minutes, then Gil stood back. ‘That should do for now. Let’s go and get a cup of tea. Thanks for your help.’

Bert nodded and followed him to the fire, where Norah Boyd was once again in charge. Capable woman that, but too tall for his taste, Bert decided. He could see no sign of his wife, so went across to the tent and found her still sleeping, the only one left in bed. He shook her hard and she jerked awake with a squeak of shock.

‘Wake up, you lazy bitch! Everyone else is working.’

She looked at him dopily, then sat up and yawned. ‘I’m no good in the mornings.’

‘They get up at dawn here, so you’ll have to change your ways. It looks bad, you lying in bed like this. Did no one try to wake you?’

She frowned, then nodded slowly. ‘I told ’em to leave me alone.’

He could imagine it. She had the sharpest voice he’d ever heard when she was annoyed about something and she’d no doubt used language that had shocked the other women. He pulled the cover off her and she complained in that whiny voice he hated. ‘Damned well get up or I’ll tip a bucket of water over you.’

She called him things his mother wouldn’t have known the meaning of and before he knew it, they were off again, quarrelling. Well, he wasn’t going to let a woman talk to him like that, wife or no wife. In the end he pulled the other blanket from underneath her for good measure, tossing them out of the tent as she squealed in protest.

Still angry, he went across to join the rest of the group, who were standing around eating breakfast and pretending they weren’t listening to the quarrel. As if anyone could miss it! He avoided their eyes. What did he care about them anyway? When Norah held out a steaming cup he took it from her gratefully. ‘Thanks.’

He tipped some of the hot liquid down his throat and watched his wife stumble across to the latrines, looking like a sleepwalker.

‘She’s always dopey in the mornings,’ he said to no one in particular. ‘And bad tempered.’

Gil let out a huff of laughter. ‘When you get your farm set up and the cows arrive, she’ll have to get up at dawn every day. Cows need milking early and late.’

Bert nodded. Susan had been eager to come when he showed her the pamphlet, eager to get on his good side again, more like, because he’d threatened to throw her out when he found out what she’d been doing during the war. But he knew her eagerness was also because she was imagining herself like the farmers’ wives in their town, comfortably circumstanced, with maids to help out.

He hadn’t enlightened her. If they’d stayed in England, her family would have continued to interfere in their marriage. Those brothers of hers weren’t afraid to use their fists if they thought anyone had hurt their little sister.

Ha! It was more likely that she was the one doing the hurting. She was cunning, Susan was, nothing like the sweet girl he’d thought he was marrying. She’d stopped hiding her true nature within days of the wedding, but he was stuck with her by then.

He sighed. He’d never had anyone to stand up for him – and neither would she have here. See how she liked that.

In the meantime he’d do the best he could for himself and sod everyone else.

While they were waiting for people to gather for breakfast, and two women were cutting up bread on the top of someone’s tin trunk, Gil showed Norah how to mix and bake a batch of damper. He helped her embed one of the camp ovens in the hot embers at the edge of the fire.

‘It’s a good thing those pots are made of solid iron,’ she said as he scattered more hot embers on its lid.

‘Aye, they’re tough all right. Think you can make some more batches now?’

‘Yes. It’s like soda bread. I just needed to know how to cook it, really.’

‘You might keep an eye on the one that’s started, and turn it round later, so the other side gets the heat.’ He turned to assess the other settlers. In spite of a night’s sleep, some of them looked bone weary. Not used to sleeping on the hard ground, he thought.

He let them finish eating breakfast then called them to order. ‘Come and sit down. We need to plan how we’re going to set up the camp and farms.’

He waited till they were settled, then explained. ‘We’re supposed to conduct a ballot for the blocks, with everyone present, only the rest of our group hasn’t arrived yet. But as we don’t know when they’re coming, I suggest we do it anyway. We’ll walk along to see the blocks, then we’ll put all twenty pieces of land into the ballot and assign them by number. When the others arrive, they can draw for the numbers.’

‘How do we run it fairly?’ Bert asked at once.

He would ask that, Gil thought. Bert seemed to suspect everyone of trying to cheat him. ‘The government has sent us forms to record the result of the ballot, and we have to do it properly, in public. There are numbers for each block on the map I’ve got, and we can put the same numbers on pieces of paper.
You
can do that, if you like, Bert.’ He hid a grin at the man’s solemn nod and saw others smiling as if they understood why he was singling out Bert.

‘We’ll put the pieces of paper into my hat and let the youngest member of each family draw one and that’s the block they get, no arguments. Afterwards, we’ll keep the rest of the block numbers in a sealed envelope for when the other families arrive.’

A short time later Gil set off, walking them to see the nearest blocks, but not leaving the road. To his surprise, all of them came, carrying small children if they had to. He pointed out his own block and when they asked why his wasn’t in the ballot, he said simply, ‘Foreman’s privilege.’

‘I suppose you’ve taken the best block,’ Susan Grenville sneered.

‘I’ve taken the one that best suits my purpose, yes. And I’ll earn the privilege, believe me.’ His had a narrower road frontage but with quite a big stretch of the creek running through it. He preferred that one because it was a bit more secluded than most. He’d build his house further back, didn’t want to live in his neighbours’ pockets.

Within a couple of hours he had them back at the camp and insisted they eat dinner first, a scratch meal of bread and tinned meat from one of the big tins. He’d sent Pete into Northcliffe in the horse and cart to order regular bread to be sent in from Pemberton, and extra provisions for the time they’d have to spend living together as a group. Once they had their own humpies they could make what arrangements they wanted for feeding themselves and it’d be deducted from the money the men earned by clearing the land.

He’d claim they were working from today onwards – and who was to know when exactly they’d started now the clerk had gone back to report that the first half of this new group had arrived safely? Selecting their blocks counted as working for the scheme, in Gil’s book anyway.

No one lingered over the meal and afterwards they gathered round him in a tense silence. He’d be tense too.

Bert solemnly wrote out the names, cut them up into bits of paper and screwed them up, with the other man Gil had chosen watching every move. Whether you got one of the better blocks or not would make a big difference to your chances of success, though some of this lot looked too soft to last it out to him. And the surveyors might claim they’d divided the blocks fairly, but you couldn’t change the nature of the land. Some blocks were definitely more promising than others.

Gil carried out the ballot grimly, letting a three-year-old lass pull the first piece of paper out of the hat.

When the numbers were read out, Gil was disappointed, though he’d tried not to show it. He’d hoped Andrew Boyd would get a good block. The man was a hard worker if Gil had ever met one, and his wife was just as capable. But Boyd had got the worst block of all.

Irene and her husband had got the block next to it, which was only marginally better, while Bert had got the best block of all.

Life just wasn’t fair sometimes.

8

A
fter the draw, Andrew, Norah and the children walked up to their new block in silence. The children kept quiet as if they’d sensed the mood of their parents.