Salt Creek (27 page)

‘Only a little further now,' I said. ‘Here.' I left the path and scrambled up a hill. The sand fell away from my feet. At the top it was as if a doorway had been scooped into a lip of sand. ‘There,' I said, when Charles arrived at my side.

Before us was an expanse like a shallow fluted bowl, but vast, more a valley, rimmed by more sand hills and covered at its base and curling up its sides with millions and billions of broken shards, a white desert, mysterious and glittering in the sunlight so that we were obliged to narrow our eyes against its brightness.

‘Ah,' Charles sighed. ‘What is it? What's it made of?'

‘It's just cockles. That's all. Shells. All broken and worn.' I bent and scooped up a silky handful and tipped it from one palm to another. ‘See how smooth all their edges are? And listen.'

Charles stroked his fingers across the shells in my hand – a tingling sensation – and I poured them out. He picked up a handful of his own and poured them from one hand to another and back again. ‘But where are they from? How did they get here?'

I shrugged. ‘The blacks eating them here?'

‘Surely not so many. How long would that take?'

‘I think hundreds of years. Thousands. I don't know. The blacks won't last for much longer. Papa says they're doomed, but they're not ill here yet.'

‘It's beautiful. Strange though.' He dug his hand in and scooped up some more. ‘How deep do they go?'

‘Deep. I don't know.'

He squatted and swirled his hands about the surface of it. ‘Do you come often?'

‘Sometimes on a calm day. If I shut my eyes I imagine I am in our garden in Adelaide. A shock when I open my eyes.'

‘Do you have it still?'

‘Sold to cover the losses. Papa is quite entrepreneurial and I believe such people can be hard on their families. He is hoping now that Hugh and Stanton will make their fortune and restore what we have lost. He has spent most of his life hoping, I think.' I began to swing my leg about, toe pointed to touch the shells and the other leg a pivot, as if I were a compass and could inscribe a perfect circle about me. I drew my skirts up a little to see better. ‘He is too much the gambler. He makes it, then loses it. It is like these shells. He picks up a handful and then they fall through his fingers and he is always surprised and then a little later he is hopeful again.'

‘Is it really so bad?'

I stopped my turning and stood there in the middle of my circle with its border of gleaming shell. ‘It's bad just now because of the sheep. Sometimes I feel like my life is galloping away, bolting, and because it's fast and the direction straight, I can hold on despite my panic. But when it slows— then, I have the time to wonder whether if I ran in an untried direction, where I pleased, the way would be better even if it were hard at first. Only there are Addie and Fred.'

‘I had to fight my father to go to Melbourne.'

‘But you're a man; it's different. He can't really compel you; you can travel alone.'

‘I suppose. I wish I could do something for you.'

We walked on, our boots slipping on the shells.

Charles said, ‘Does Mr Finch know this place?'

‘We had more sheep out here for a while so he had to visit, but it ruined their fleeces. And their feet were bad. Papa doesn't care for it out here. He finds it desolate. He says it slithers beneath his feet and he cannot feel the ground. He says: “It is mine but I do not feel welcome here.” And he tells me not to be superstitious. He used to go all the way around instead of across the middle to get the sheep on the other side. It's so slow. The sheep didn't like it either. They stood there dumbfounded, like this' – I gave Charles my sheep impression which made him laugh – ‘and then they went back. They didn't believe it was real. Well, I don't know what they believed, but they wouldn't put one of their dainty rotting feet on it for anything.'

‘You don't look like a sheep.'

‘Or like a corpse. Wonderful. I will begin to save your compliments. It is comfortable too – as comfortable as any bed I ever slept on.'

‘Show me.'

‘Why, you just lie down. It's quite simple. Like this.' I lay down and wriggled to shape it to me. It was warm beneath and it moved so that it seemed almost a living thing. Charles loomed against the blue of the sky and with the sun behind him I couldn't see his face. I closed my eyes to better feel the warmth of the shells against me. I liked to look at the light through my eyelids – the red glow and the pulse of my blood. Mama explained it to us once. I played the shells through my fingers. Everything was silky. Then came the shushing sound of the shells moving and Charles's voice close to my head – ‘Ah' – which startled me and made me turn to see.

He was lying with his hands folded across his stomach. His eyes were already closed and his face was quite smooth. ‘It is comfortable.'

‘I told you,' I said.

‘You did. I'll believe you next time.'

‘But you still need to do it. It's not enough to believe me.'

‘I will do as you say, of course I will.' His voice was just a murmur. ‘Hester.'

There was the touch of his hand against mine. I thought it was a mistake and pulled away, but his hand followed mine and curled about it and held it. It was as warm, warmer than the shells. I don't know why I didn't move it. His thumb stroked up and down, idle almost, but it was all that I could feel. The sounds of seagulls and waves and the hum of distant wind fell away. And he lifted my hand to his mouth and held it there and put it to his cheek, which prickled after the softness of his mouth. ‘I missed you.' He opened his eyes and turned to his side and gave one of his slow smiles. ‘I've been thinking of you.'

‘I didn't know.'

‘Now you do.'

‘Yes.'

Our faces drew closer by small movements of our bodies and we reached together – his face was large close to, his eyes very blue before they closed – and our mouths touched and pressed closer. Suddenly the world began to come clearer to me. Addie too. How would you resist this?

CHAPTER 15

The Coorong, October 1860

I THOUGHT I WOULD LAUGH WHEN I
first saw Stanton. He swung the dining room door back and stood against the light. He was wearing a tartan suit and a silk waistcoat, which could not have appeared more ridiculous in those surrounds.

Everything and everyone was unsettled then. Papa and Tull were still away at Point McLeay, and Charles had left for Melbourne. Hugh and Stanton were full of tales of high adventure and brawls and gold strikes and the size and entertainments of Melbourne. They had made a little money, but not their fortunes, and by the sound of it spent more than they saved. The house could barely contain them. They would try and order us around with Papa not there. They had prospects according to Hugh, and planned to leave again soon, but wished to ‘ruralise' a little first. By their second day home they had already pronounced farm life dull.

The baby kangaroo died two nights after they arrived, I don't know why. Perhaps it was only that it was too young to be without its mother, or it was the noise and strangeness of new people.

Stanton watched Fred at work one evening: ‘Still doing your scribbles, I see.'

Fred didn't answer, but after Stanton left the room, said, ‘I wish Charles hadn't gone.' They had often talked of art.

All I could think about was Charles. It made me short-tempered and drear. I could not forget what I'd said to him.
He
would never forget it; I was sure of that. It did not really matter; I would never see him again.

When Charles and I first kissed on the peninsula there was nothing in it but hesitant wonderment. It was a kind of perfection to lie on our bed of shells under cover of sun. How quickly it was not enough. We returned a second and then a third day, for Charles to draw again, we said, and so he could teach me how to use the musket. He did not like to think of us unprotected while Papa was away.

We were bolder each time, as if chaste life – cooking and drawing and playing the piano and seeing to the cows and pretence – had fuelled its opposite. Without a word we hurried the paths and lay on the shells. It was cloudy on the last day, cooler, and Charles pulled the front of his coat across me and we lay in that dark cocoon. His shirt had pulled loose and my hand was on his back – soft, but also hard with muscle, unlike a baby's or child's – and his fingers rimmed my bodice and his fingertip edged beneath. We kissed deeper and lay closer. Then he rolled and was on me, his face above mine, his hands holding me still. He gave me such a look: not perfectly in control of himself, but intent. I had never seen such an expression before. It frightened me.

‘No,' I said, blood boiling up in my cheeks. I shoved at his chest with my palms. ‘Charles.'

He came to himself and fell away. ‘I'm sorry.' His face was twisted with shock but still lovely to me; it was hard to see danger in it.

‘I can't.' I shook my head. I was shaking all over. Part of me wanted to see that look on his face again. I had frightened myself. I could see how it happened now, how without meaning to give anything up, I might, to get something else.

‘I'm sorry,' he said again.

‘I believe you. We should go now.'

He reached for my hand. I pushed it free and shoved it when he tried again. ‘No, don't,' I said.

‘I can't touch you?' he said.

‘No.'

‘Or be with you.'

‘It's not safe. I can't—' If I said more, he would know how much every part of me but my rational self longed for his touch.

‘You don't hate me?'

‘No, of course not.'

‘Do you think I might … because I would not.'

I shook my head and got to my feet.

‘I don't understand,' he said.

I looked down at him. ‘I can't forget my mother. I swore I would not become like her. And now I can see how it happens.'

‘I won't again,' he said.

‘It doesn't matter. We can't come back here.'

We just looked at each other. I didn't smile or soften in any way. I would not yield at all and stood as tall as I was able, and he said, finally, ‘If that's what you want.'

‘Want? It has nothing to do with that. It is what must be. Think ahead.' I was shaking and held my hands tight together to still them. ‘We should go now. I must see to supper.' I did not look at him in the boat, but rowed steadily, thinking only of scooping the water cleanly, and feeling my strength put to this familiar work.

When we had almost reached the home shore, Charles said, ‘I'd best be leaving for Melbourne.'

‘I suppose so,' I said.

The day after that he rode out. At the veranda steps he kissed me lightly on the cheek. ‘I hope I will see you again on my return.'

‘Yes,' I said. ‘That would be nice. If you journey this way another time, do stop and see us.'

I was sure I would never see him again. I thought that was the kindest thing – for us both. There would always be someone else for a person such as Charles; I wanted there to be no one for me. I did not presume the worst of him. But men did rule over women and tell them what to do, as if it were their nature to. No one said they should do otherwise; not the world or anyone. It was not Charles that I did not care for. It was the thought of giving my life away, what I might allow myself to do, and the future that would then unfold. I would not risk it. And the only way to escape such a fate that I could see was to become independent, to keep myself from temptation and never to marry.

By the third day of their homecoming Hugh and Stanton were restless for excitement. Perhaps it was the weather: the first warm day of September. Somehow, while out working that morning, they had persuaded Fred to visit the Travellers Rest with them later that day.

Fred did not look comfortable when the subject came up in my presence. His glance flickered from Hugh and Stanton to me. He seemed trepidatious, which I could not understand.

‘What is the purpose of the expedition?' I said.

‘A visit to the Travellers Rest is all. The joys of life,' Hugh said. ‘Not that you need to know.'

‘And I say that Fred may not go,' I said.

Relief flashed across Fred's face.

‘Oh dear,' Stanton said in his jeering way. ‘Freddie has to stay home with Hester.'

Of course Fred's temper flared up. ‘You be quiet, Stanton. I will go. You can't stop me, Hester.'

‘You may not,' I said. ‘Papa left me in charge.'

‘He did not know at the time he left that we would be here,' Hugh said. ‘In fact it is I, and not you, Hester, who has guardianship over Fred at this moment, since I am the eldest here, and a man.'

Stanton gave one of his insolent grins.

‘Fred is seventeen, which I should not have to remind you,' I said.

Hugh leaned in the doorway and folded his arms. ‘I think I know my duty,' he said.

‘So I would have supposed.'

Hugh's eyes narrowed at that.

‘Only perhaps Papa would prefer us not to leave Hester and Addie here alone,' Fred said.

The rage was a hot red weight in my chest, but I would never show Hugh and Stanton that. ‘No, you go along, Fred. I know how to use the musket quite well. We will be quite safe.'

‘You can fire a musket?' Stanton said.

‘Charles taught me. I am quite a good shot.' I took a chair from the table to the doorway so that Hugh and Stanton were obliged to move, and climbed up and lifted the musket from its pegs and fetched the cartridge box from its hook and began attending to it. It was like an equation. I had only to remember the sequence and the result was assured. I loaded the musket and rammed the ball, doing it without haste to make sure I had done it right, swinging the muzzle past them – they flinched – before setting it on the table. The boys continued to watch. It was as if they were waiting for me to release them.

Finally, Hugh took hold of the door handle. Fred looked at me.

I said, ‘Be careful, Fred,' very calm. ‘Take Birdie. She's sensible. I'll leave the lamp burning.'

He said, ‘If you like.'

Addie came from the parlour to watch them depart, Fred trailing behind, and we went for a walk around the curve of our point late in the afternoon. Birdsong increased as the sun reached towards the peninsula, swooping and ricocheting all around, from the lagoon too, and finally the shapes of the birds turned to shadow rather than substance: trailing parabolas of flight above us.

We strolled home. I lit the fire in the dining room to make it cosy, the wind having turned south, and we spent a pleasant enough evening: Addie sewing, and I reading. Addie sighed over her stitches. ‘Do you suppose Papa and Tull will be much longer?' she said.

‘Not much longer.'

We played a game of chess and a game of draughts and when Addie went to bed, I hung a lamp on the veranda and put another in the parlour window. I took a quilt and settled myself in Papa's big chair before the dining room stove with the dogs at my feet.

It was the middle of the night when Fred came crashing through the door. I had never seen him in such a state, poor boy. He fell back against the door and shut his eyes for a moment. Skipper rushed to him, whining at his feet and sniffing at him.

‘Fred. Are you all right?' I threw the quilt off and hurried over, and felt his arms and inspected his face for bruising or injury, for anything. He was dishevelled and stinking of ale and having been sick, and of something else, but that was all that I could see. ‘Come over here, close to the fire.' I sat him in the chair and wrapped the quilt about his shoulders. Once I had brought the lamp in and turned it up I began to see him more clearly. He was pale and trembling, with distress as well as cold, I thought. ‘What's happened? Where did they take you?'

Fred shook his head. ‘Could I have some water please?'

He drank two glasses of water, retching once or twice between mouthfuls, but shuddered each time I questioned him. ‘I'm so tired, Hett. Just let me sleep. Please.' His eyelids were drooping. There was no point in asking further and he groaned when I tried to make him stand and go to bed. By the time I turned the lamp down his eyes were quite closed. Skipper curled up on the rug at his feet and I left them there.

He was still asleep next morning when I went to milk the cows. I set the milk in the larder for the cream to rise and went inside. Fred blinked and looked around, his gaze resting on the table, the window, the stove, me, until comprehension began. His look was of such naked pleading that I did not have the heart to ask him about the events of the night. I put some wood on the fire and went out to the kitchen and stoked that fire too and put the kettle on and began a bread dough. Presently, Fred came through the door, looking a little better. He had washed himself and changed his clothes. He sat in a chair, quiet, watching as I kneaded the dough on the table. I made him a cup of tea and he clasped the mug and shivered and drank a little of the hot tea. His wet hair had begun to spring into curls around his face before he talked.

‘I hate them. I wish I had not gone. I wish it.' He shuddered and was quiet for several more minutes. ‘We went to the Travellers Rest. It was nearly dark when we got there. Mrs Martin was there and I met Mr Martin. I didn't like him very much. He's like a wolf. Mrs Martin had a bruise on her face. She's nice. You know the way she talks: “Come inside, my ducks. You'll be after refreshment and a bite of my pie, am I right?”'

His Irish accent was quite good; I would have laughed at a different time. ‘I like her,' I said.

‘Hugh bought me some ale and said I should drink it, so I did. I didn't like being there. It's not very clean now. The tables were sticky. I thought we would go home after that, but Hugh and Stanton bought some more ale and liquor to take with us and said the night had just started. An adventure, they called it. We just rode into the bush. I wanted to turn around, except I didn't know where we were. I didn't feel very well. I am not accustomed to drink.'