Cry of the Curlew: The Frontier Series 1 (24 page)

‘Are you alive, Tom?’

‘Yes. I am asleep in a place of wilderness. And as I sleep, I think of you and Michael.’

‘How was Da taken from us? Where does his body rest?’

But Tom was gone before he could answer. He had left Kate as mysteriously as he had arrived to stand by her bed and speak to her. In his place, the vague and beautiful oval shape of a face hovered over Kate and a gentle hand stroked her hair. Kate felt the coolness of a damp cloth on her forehead. It was soothing and she drifted into another world of darkness with no memory of the past.

Judith felt her skin creep as a reaction to the unknown entity that had left the room. She rose and left Kate to sleep and closed the door quietly behind her as she joined her husband and Luke in the tiny dining room, just big enough to accommodate a table and four chairs. The Cohens did not have many guests and the room was adequate for their needs.

‘How is she?’ Solomon asked his wife.

‘She sleeps,’ she replied wearily as she sat down heavily in a chair. ‘But it is still a fevered sleep.’ The long hours of tending the sick girl had taken a toll on her strength. But Judith did not complain and it did not matter that the girl was a stranger. All that mattered was that she was her responsibility. ‘She was talking to someone called Tom about her father’s death.’

‘Did you tell her about her father’s death?’ Solomon asked with a frown, as they had agreed that she was not to be told until she was well and strong enough to cope with the tragic news.

‘No, Solomon,’ his wife replied irritably. ‘But I think she knows in ways that we would not understand.’

‘She must have overheard us talking about Mister Duffy,’ Solomon commented, dismissing the matter.

Judith did not argue with her husband, as she did not expect him to understand things beyond the physical world men lived in. A man was too busy doing practical things to stop and listen to the disembodied voices that whispered in the dark. She excused herself to go to the adjacent kitchen and soon returned to the dining room with three plates of vegetable and chicken stew. The delicious aroma of herbs and chicken made Luke’s mouth water.

‘Ah, but she spoils you, Luke,’ Solomon lamented. ‘She never cooks me her chicken.’

Judith sat and placed a platter of oven-fresh bread at the centre of the table.

‘I do make you this meal, at least twice a year,’ she said gently, rebuking her husband. Solomon prepared to call blessings on the meal they were about to eat.

‘So, Luke, how is your plan to go north faring?’ Solomon asked as he poured a glass of red wine for him. ‘Do you have the money for the horses?’

‘Not enough for two horses,’ Luke replied as he chewed a tender portion of chicken. ‘I will need at least one packhorse for what I have in mind. Maybe another month of work and I will be able to head out west.’

‘I can lend you the money,’ Solomon offered. ‘It’s the least I can do for all your help you gave us when we first came here. I can afford it.’

‘Thank you, Sol,’ Luke replied gratefully. ‘But in my business I can’t promise results, so I will decline your generous offer.’

‘I have faith in you, my friend. If you say this colony has much gold to be found, then I think it will be you who will find it. And then, when you are a very wealthy man, you can pay me back . . . with interest, of course.’ Both men laughed at his self-deprecating reference to the supposed usury tradition of his European relatives. Luke knew full well that Solomon had no intention of charging him interest.

‘Well, your faith in me is good enough,’ Luke said. ‘I’ll get by. I’ve got work and you know I don’t need much to get by on in my life.’

As the two men carried on a banter over the table, Judith cast a glance at the clock ticking on the wall. It was late and, as usual, Kevin O’Keefe was away in town. She felt anger welling in her breast. O’Keefe went out every night to gamble and drink in the hotels and grog shops, while his pretty young wife hovered close to death. He would return in the early hours of the morning and sleep until late in the shed at the back of the store.

Once she had taken him to task about staying with his wife more often and he mumbled something about not being able to handle other people’s sickness. In a cold rage, she had walked away from him. She knew the kind of man O’Keefe was and wondered why Kate had married him. Granted he was charming and handsome, but he was also a man who had no idea of responsibility to others. A selfish man who always put his own needs before those who loved him.

And she had heard the disturbing rumours that she had prayed were false, for the sake of the pregnant young woman who lay critically ill in bed.

‘That cursed man,’ she suddenly exploded and both men gawked at her in surprise.

‘Who?’ Solomon asked blankly.

‘Mister O’Keefe,’ Judith replied bitterly. ‘He should be by the side of that poor girl and not out every night drinking and gambling,’ she snapped.

‘O’Keefe doesn’t deserve her,’ Luke growled. ‘She’s just a girl.’

‘She is not a girl, Luke,’ Judith said, savaging his patronising comment. ‘She is expecting a child and that makes her a woman.’

‘Well, what I meant is that she is very young to have all those big ideas,’ he replied feebly.

‘And how old were you in ’49 when you were on the California goldfields?’ Judith snorted derisively.

‘Er, sixteen, I think. But I was all grown up by then,’ he protested weakly. ‘Kathleen O’Keefe is only a girl.’

‘And you think having a baby is less hard than digging for gold?’ Judith snorted ‘You men have a lot to learn about life.’ Her face was flushed with anger.

‘Not me, Judith,’ Solomon said, gently attempting to steer his wife away from her emotional attack on their friend. ‘I have you to tell me.’ He could clearly see that his wife was venting her spleen on the wrong person and Judith softened as she realised that she was attacking a man who had suffered personal tragedy not unlike the drama being played out in the room behind the store. Although Luke did not speak of the loss of his own young wife and child, she had heard the tragic story from others.

The American prospector had met Jane in Brisbane. She had been a pretty young girl of eighteen and by nineteen she had become Luke’s wife and mother to their daughter. But both mother and baby daughter had died of typhoid fever before she turned twenty.

Devastated by the loss, the American had gone bush and had only re-emerged in the last year to face civilisation. The frontier was not a place where much was secret. Stories travelled with the teamsters, mailmen, drifters and merchants and gossip was recounted to avid news-starved listeners in the grog shanties along the tracks and in the hotel bars of the frontier towns. It had been in the store that a travelling merchant out of Brisbane had told Judith the tragic story about Luke.

When the meal was over and Judith had cleared the table, Solomon pushed his chair out to fetch the box of cigars he kept for special occasions. He was standing with the cigar box in his hand when they heard the hammering on the front door of the store.

‘Mister Cohen, are you in there?’ the voice bellowed. ‘Mister Cohen, I have to talk to you.’

Luke rose from the table as he cast Solomon a questioning look.

‘That is Mister Wilson,’ Solomon said, answering the American’s unspoken question. ‘He has the Traveller’s Rest Hotel in town.’

‘You want me to come with you?’ Luke offered. ‘Sounds like a heap of trouble.’

Solomon shook his head. ‘No. I know Mister Wilson,’ he replied. ‘He is no trouble.’

Luke resumed his seat at the table opposite Judith as Solomon left the dining room. They sat silently listening to the murmur of voices coming to them from the verandah. They could hear Wilson’s voice raised in hysterical anger until the conversation ceased and they heard Solomon walking up the verandah back into the house. He was ashen-faced when he entered the dining room.

‘Something has happened to Mister O’Keefe,’ Judith said when she saw the troubled expression on her husband’s face. He sat down heavily in his chair and poured himself a glass of wine which he swallowed in one long gulp.

‘Something has happened to Mister O’Keefe all right,’ he replied bitterly as he wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. ‘He has run off with Mister Wilson’s wife and she took the day’s takings from the hotel when she left.’

‘Goddamned son of a bitch,’ Luke swore. ‘God damn the man to hell!’

But it was Judith who responded to the news in a way that took both men by complete surprise.

‘Good! I am glad he has gone away from her,’ she said quietly. ‘I hope she will never see the man again. Kate will do more with her life without him. I feel that she is destined for things beyond our understanding. Only God knows what He has in store for her.’

Solomon did not doubt that his wife was right, as he had long learned to trust her intuition. She was rarely wrong.

In the early hours of the following morning, Kate went into premature labour. Her cries of pain brought both Judith and Solomon to her bedside. In her agony, she had called for her absent husband.

Judith sat with her while Solomon went to fetch the midwife and the baby boy was born into the Cohen home two hours later. But the midwife shook her head sadly, and before the first rays of the Queensland sun had crept over the town of Rockhampton, the infant died in Kate’s arms.

Neither Solomon nor his wife could bring themselves to tell the distraught young woman that her husband had deserted her with another man’s wife. That she would learn in time.

TWENTY-TWO

T
he earth had sprouted a scraggly cover of dry and brittle grass over the tiny grave and a spray of wildflowers lay against the headstone, etched with the simple words: Michael O’Keefe, born and died March, 1863.

Kate stood alone beside the small mound where her baby lay under the Queensland soil and prayed silently as she brushed away the pestering flies from her face.

It had been over twelve weeks since the baby’s death and she had taken that long to fully recuperate from the debilitating fever. Little Michael O’Keefe. Oh how I miss you. You had such a fine life ahead of you. If only . . . The tears streamed down her pretty but gaunt face. At least his little soul would not be an anonymous entity in heaven. Michael was the name she had chosen for her son. A strong name, not unlike her brother’s character. Now he was lost to the family as were Tom and her father. How could so much tragedy be visited on them like some awful Dark Angel? Why was God doing this terrible thing to the Duffy family?

The sun was losing its sting as the shadows of the late afternoon crept over the cemetery. A low dust haze on the distant horizon took on the softness of a mauve filter. She dabbed at her tears with a handkerchief, knowing that there was nothing else she could do for her baby, and she walked slowly down the dusty and gently sloping hill to Luke Tracy who was standing patiently with his arms folded, smoking an evil-smelling cheroot by the buggy.

From a distance she was struck by his boyish appearance. It was not like the first impression of the tough and independent Kennedy man she first remembered standing on the wharf at Brisbane. For a fleeting moment she had an urge to throw her arms around him and hold him to her breast for being the gentle and wise person that he was. It had been he who had brought her the spray of wildflowers and suggested she take them to the grave of her baby. And he had been able to make her laugh when she thought it was not possible to do so. In so many ways, the American reminded her of her brother Michael. He was tough when he had to be, but he was also tender, funny and intelligent when she was in his company.

It had been his friends, the Cohens, who had nursed her through the deadly fever and always he seemed to be there for her in one way or another. Kate felt guilty for allowing herself to let her thoughts settle on him with such ease as she was, after all, still the wife of Kevin O’Keefe.

It was also just over two months since her husband had deserted her for Mister Wilson’s young and pretty wife. Kate had heard that he had lost money on the big footrace between Jenkins and Purcell and that he had left town owing a lot of debts. His desertion of her at a time when she needed him most was bad enough. But he had also cleaned out their bank account, and left her practically destitute.

That the publican’s wife had left O’Keefe in Brisbane for a wealthy landowner was small consolation. As much as she wanted to, or felt she should, she could not hate the man who had betrayed her in every possible way. She even harboured the burning hope that he might return to her. One day he would walk through the door a chastened man and humbly beg forgiveness for erring. But she was not sure how she would react to him if he did return to her.

A letter had arrived from Aunt Bridget which told Kate of the events surrounding Michael’s flight from Australia. Bridget also wrote of how they had known of Patrick’s and Old Billy’s deaths and of Tom’s misfortune.

With some bitterness she wrote that Tom’s reputation as a bushranger had quickly spread, even to the mostly Irish patrons of the Erin, who sang rowdy songs about him as he was now in the pantheon of Irish folk heroes, alongside such legendary bushrangers as Bold Jack Donahue. He was the ‘white myall of Queensland’ and his daring raids on the squatters’ properties were hailed as ‘acts of war’ by the small army of sympathisers who followed his exploits avidly in the newspapers.

To the landed gentry and their sympathisers, he was a renegade white man who merited no more consideration than the pesky blacks and there was a shoot-on-sight policy although this was not officially condoned by the law.

Bridget had hoped that the Australian colonies would provide a new start for the Duffys away from the never-ending troubles of Ireland. But now her nephew was repeating an old history in this new land with his supposed war against the Establishment. Would the Duffys be forever cursed with the hot blood of rebellion in their veins?

As Kate walked towards the American, she knew what she must do. She must find Tom and the final resting place of her father. A powerful and ancient force, linked to the future, had reached out to her in her fevered dreams, drawing her inexorably towards a place that was the centre of the universe for two families bound by a rip in the fabric of destiny.

Luke watched her walking towards him and wondered about the inner strength of the young woman. Although she had lost some of the gauntness the fever had left in its wake, she still had dark rings under her eyes which he guessed were from crying.

‘Thank you for bringing me here, Mister Tracy,’ she said with a sad smile as he helped her up onto the buggy and took up the reins in his callused hands.

They travelled in silence for a mile or so with Kate deep in her thoughts of past and present. The past was tragic and the future grim. She was almost penniless, had lost her baby and had been deserted by her husband. And for the future: her dreams and ambitions had not changed. Luck and hard work were the answers, as she well knew.

They clattered past flocks of white sulphur-crested cockatoos in the branches of the majestic gum trees and she gazed at the western horizon with a sense of peace. There was a special serenity about the dusk with its changing colours, crimson and mauve under a few scattered clouds like a beautiful but torn tapestry hanging delicately in the darkening sky.

‘Are your parents still alive, Mister Tracy?’ she asked unexpectedly, breaking the silence between them.

He did not answer immediately as he thought back over time to a place, far from Rockhampton, on another continent. ‘No, Ma’am. Both folks are dead and buried in California,’ he reflected.

‘Then we have that in common, Mister Tracy,’ she replied, staring out at the setting sun on the distant hazy horizon.

Luke glanced at her from the corner of his eye and saw her thick dark hair move softly with a slight breeze as the scent of lavender water wafted across to him. She appeared so vulnerable that he felt his own heart ache for her pain as he had the day he buried his own wife and baby daughter.

‘Are you planning to return to your folks in Sydney, Missus O’Keefe?’ he asked conversationally.

‘No, I won’t be going back. I have things to do here,’ she answered as she continued to gaze at the sunset. ‘No doubt some day I will visit my family in Sydney. But I don’t think that will be for a long time yet. Have you ever thought about returning to America?’

He turned his head in surprise to look directly at her, as it was a question he had often asked himself. ‘I guess I am a bit like you, Ma’am,’ he replied. ‘I have things to do here before I ever go home. And right now with the war going on over there, and the fact of me being pretty broke, I guess that is a possibility but not a consideration for the moment.’

‘Yes, I suppose the war forces terrible decisions for a man,’ Kate said softly. ‘Who to fight for, Mister Lincoln or Mister Davis. If you were back in America, who would you be fighting for, Mister Tracy?’

‘Hard to say,’ he replied with a frown. ‘I was born in Virginia but spent most of my time in California. I stood at the Stockade as a Californian and got my wounds fighting for this country against the Limey army.’ He shook his head, reflecting on the confusing nature of international politics. ‘I guess you could say I’m kind of undecided. I grew up believing that God intended the darkies to work for the white man. But at the Eureka, I fought beside a big nigra, a fellow called John Josephs, and he was as fine a man as you could ever meet. He kind of changed my ideas on things about the darkies. Since California, I’ve travelled a mite and I’ve met men from different places and got to feel that all men are equal . . . like it says in our American Constitution. I guess Mister Lincoln is fighting for that. Maybe knowing what I do now, I’d be fighting for the North.’

‘And who do you think will win the war in your country?’ she asked.

‘That’s also hard to say,’ he replied. ‘The South won’t surrender so long as a man can stand and hold a gun, but . . .’ his voice trailed away. He had read the accounts of the bloody battles being fought across the sea between brothers and he did not have to be a general to know the Confederacy was bleeding to death. ‘It don’t look good for the South.’

‘I am glad you are not in that horrible war,’ Kate said gently as she touched him lightly on the arm. ‘Do you know, if you had not been here when I was stricken with the fever, I might never have known the wonderful generosity of the Cohens. Nor would I have had you to drive me out to see my child.’

‘Had nothing else to do, Kate,’ he replied, shrugging off her gratitude with a touch of embarrassment for her gentle words. ‘Can’t go anywhere until I get a couple of horses. And that don’t look like for a while yet,’ he said, avoiding her eyes. His familiar use of her name was the first time he had done so. He had found it hard to use her married name – as protocol dictated – under the present circumstances. There was a sharing between them that was too intimate for formal distance.

Kate liked the way he used her name in the familiar way and it was only fitting that he do so. He had been more than just an acquaintance to her. The American was a friend she had come to lean on when she needed the strength to get her past the present and into the future. A very special friend, she thought, with the confusion of her feelings, as she sat beside him.

‘Mister Cohen . . . Solomon . . . told me you were working to get enough money to buy your horses. If you had them, would you leave Rockhampton?’ she asked brightly in an attempt to shake off her thoughts.

‘Yes, Ma’am! Head out and find gold,’ Luke replied. ‘I have a strong feeling in my bones that tells me there is gold somewhere out there to be found by someone looking for it. The colony is such a big place, there’s got to be a really big strike waiting for me and as soon as I get a grubstake together, you won’t see me for dust,’ he responded optimistically.

Kate returned to gaze at the setting sun as she did not want him to see the frown on her face. She did not know exactly what it was in his statement that made her frown, but she did know she did not want him to leave her.

‘What are your plans, Kate, since you have decided to stay?’ he asked, pleased to see that she was not brooding on the past.

‘First, I will go and find where my father is buried. And then find my brother Tom,’ she answered without hesitation.

He looked surprised. A tall order for such a young woman. From what he had heard around Rockhampton, Patrick Duffy’s last resting place was unknown. And Tom Duffy could be anywhere in the colony. Her ambitions were mere pipedreams, he thought sadly, and he decided to remain silent lest he express how foolish he thought her ideas were. Such a venture required supplies she could not afford and the services of a bushman, which she did not have. Kate O’Keefe was living in a dream world, but he was not about to waken her and force her to face reality.

But what he did not know was that Kate had already formulated a way to find her father’s grave, and then her brother Tom. She smiled enigmatically which made Luke feel a touch uneasy.

A week later, Luke Tracy answered a mysterious summons that he was required immediately at the Cohens’ store. The message was delivered by a young boy at a stump-clearing gang where the American prospector worked grubbing tree roots. He handed his shovel to the gang boss then hurried to the store, where he was met by Solomon.

‘I got your message,’ Luke said anxiously as he removed his hat and wiped the sweat from his brow. ‘The lad said you needed to see me as soon as possible. Has something happened to Kate?’

‘Don’t sound so concerned, my friend. All is well.’ Solomon chuckled as he guided the puzzled man through the store to a paddock, where Kate and Judith were feeding handfuls of oats to three fine-looking horses. The two women chatted happily as the big horses bustled each other to get at the feed the women held in the palms of their hands.

‘Luke! You came,’ Judith cried delightedly as she turned to see the two men approaching across the paddock. ‘What do you think of them?’

Luke gave the horses his expert appraisal as he stroked the nose of the biggest, a mare with an intelligent look in her eyes. The horses were at the peak of their health and strong. ‘Not bad. Must have cost you a bit by the look of them,’ he reflected as the mare nuzzled his bushy beard.

‘Not us,’ Judith replied with a mysterious smile. ‘They cost Kate a small fortune.’

Luke frowned as it dawned on him why she had purchased the horses.

‘You can’t be thinking of going west, Kate?’ he said. ‘It’s utter foolishness for a girl as young and inexperienced as you to even think about travelling country as tough as it is out there. Believe me, I know.’

‘Oh, yes I can,’ she replied defiantly as she continued to feed oats to her horses. ‘And nothing . . . or no one . . . is going to stop me.’

Exasperated by the young woman’s defiance, he turned to Judith for support, but she ignored him and began to stroke the broad neck of the mare. This was a matter between Luke and Kate. She approved of what Kate had in mind, as they had discussed the matter before the purchase of the horses and she agreed it could be done with the right help.

The money had been a loan from the Cohens which Judith knew Kate would one day repay. She had already sensed with a woman’s intuition that the young woman was destined for something important in life. Kate had survived death and desertion and was able to rally her life forces to plan an expedition of her own into wild country that was barely settled. Such a woman had a strength that could not be broken by adversity.