Frontier Wife (28 page)

After a hundred yards or so the scrub opened up into a clearing. To her amazement, she saw a small log hut, its roof covered with sheets of bark secured with cross saplings.

Tommy pushed open the stout wooden door, giving a wary glance around before entering, in case some wild animal called this place home. The small, sparsely furnished room had a chimney built of graded logs lined with mud and loose stone. On one side of the fireplace, rough tree-trunk seats rested on the floor.

She unearthed a three-legged cast-iron boiler, tin pint pot, and long-handled fry pan. A bed made from slabs and sheets of bark was shoved up against one wall.

Life at the homestead was becoming intolerable. This would be her secret hideaway, free from Adam's all-prevailing presence or influence.

Jamie could help her make it more homelike. It couldn’t be more than a couple of miles from the homestead. By the accumulation of dust and leaves piled high on the dirt floor, no one had ventured here for years.

It would be fun. She would bring over some flour, tea and sugar. Maybe make covers and cushions for the stools and get a piece of carpet to cover the dirt floor.

She explored the area thoroughly. Yes, it would get cut off if heavy rain came, but they were in the middle of a drought.

Chapter Thirteen

Weeks passed, and Adam made no attempt to touch her. If he could possibly avoid speaking to, or being alone with her, he did so. His attitude towards Jamie remained the same, everywhere he went Jamie followed like a little shadow. Now and again when she caught Adam off guard, his eyes would be bleak and brooding, his mouth drawn into thin, bitter lines.

On several occasions he went out in the evenings and didn’t return until the early hours of the morning. He did not tell her where he went and she did not ask. Was he seeking solace in the arms of other women?

This thought caused her bitter anguish, yet how could she blame him when he wasn’t receiving his conjugal rights from her. The intensity of her feelings towards these faceless women astounded her. She started sniffing his discarded clothes for traces of perfume, but never found any.

Still the drought continued, not a drop of rain fell and things became desperate. To conserve water they economized in the house. A wash sufficed now instead of a bath; no water could be spared for the garden; even the laundry water was rationed. Instead of washing every day, they waited until the coppers were full.

Adam ruthlessly culled his stock back, keeping only his best breeders. As the rest became too weak to fend for themselves he shot them; yet he still kept all his workers on, even though they had nothing much to do. He sent men into New South Wales, even as far as Queensland, scouring the countryside for hay.

Each day Tommy surveyed the horizon for signs of clouds. The only things marring the unbroken blue sky were black crows circling over dead and dying cattle. The sounds of their cawing went on relentlessly. She would never forget their hideous cries.

Towards the end of March, she knew beyond doubt that Adam's child grew inside her. He wanted a son. Little did he know his desire had come to fruition.

One night as she lay in bed, she passed a hand across her body and noticed a slight thickening of her waistline. She wanted this child desperately. To have something to love and nurture. This would ease the pain of being locked into a loveless marriage to a man who boasted to a drunken friend about lying to his wife to get what he wanted on their wedding night. A man so stubborn, he refused to breach the barrier between them.

She wouldn’t tell anyone until she had to. Let Adam suffer, thinking his most fervent wish would never be granted. Her clothes would hide her condition for some time yet. The slight feeling of nausea she got on rising in the mornings would escape his notice, as he never entered the bedroom now.

Tommy walked everywhere, leaving the filly to be exercised by one of the grooms. She strolled one afternoon in a different direction than usual. Beyond a hill, about half a mile from the homestead, she discovered a small cemetery containing several weathered headstones. No one had been buried here for many years. Peace and serenity reigned over this lonely place. She wandered between the graves and read the various inscriptions. This little cemetery was the final resting place for members of the Munro family.

The area, though well maintained, seemed somehow forlorn. The once green grass was dried out and brittle, as dead as the people buried here. Patches of sun-baked earth were exposed in several areas giving the ground a patchwork appearance.

The grave of Adam’s mother, set a little apart from the others, was shaded by the massive overhang of a strange tree with large leaves. Rose bushes, planted on either side of the headstone, still managed to bloom. As she knelt down to read the inscription, the perfume of the deep red roses almost overpowered her. Her eyes filled with tears because Isobel Louisa Munro, aged thirty, did not live to see her only child grow to manhood.

A large vase full of dried-up flowers stood on a little raised marble platform. Flowers were deposited here, perhaps on a regular basis, by someone who cared. Could it be Adam?

It seemed likely, because this grave received special attention. Beneath the veneer of ruthlessness he had a softer side. He showed it to Jamie, but not her.

Pain constricted her heart. Would he give to his child the love and affection he denied his wife?

“Oh, Isobel Louisa.” She held her hands across her heart and swayed from side to side. “If your son could give to me even a fraction of the love he feels for you, I’d be a happy woman.”

Adam would never love her. She would be tolerated as the mother of his child, nothing more—nothing less.
It isn’t enough, I need more from
him.
Unconditional love? She might as well wish for the moon to be handed to her on a silver platter.

****

One evening at dinner, Adam stopped eating and stared straight into her face. “You haven't been riding the filly.”

“I prefer walking now the weather is cooler.”

“I suppose it's because I gave her to you.” Bitter lines gouged either side of his mouth.

“I like walking.”

He scowled as he pushed his half-eaten food away. “I'm going out.”

“To find consolation in the arms of some whore?”

“Jealous,” he snarled, as he stood.

Jamie stared at them both. She hoped he didn’t understand the words or the undercurrents of animosity.

That night Tommy lay tossing and turning in bed. Over-tiredness must be keeping her awake. After what seemed like hours, she heard a bang, followed by a string of oaths. Adam was home and he must have tripped over something.

She was awoken next morning from an exhausted sleep by persistent knocking at the door. Rising quickly caused her head to spin and nausea to rise up in her throat.

“Can I come in?”

She sagged back on the pillows in relief when it turned out to be Jamie.

“Come in, my lamb.”

He trotted across the floor, a frown on his normally happy face.

“Where's Adam?” He glanced around the room, his lips trembling. “I'm dressed and I’ve eaten my breakfast like he said, and now he's gone without me.”

“He might be in his dressing room.”

“He said this was his room.”

“Well, so it is. He went out last night and didn't want to wake me up so he slept in there.” She pointed to the connecting door. Why didn’t she tell him the truth? Their marriage had turned into a farce.

He opened and hurried through the door. “Wake up.” His piping voice floated out to her. “You slept in your clothes.”

“Go away.”

“You said we could fix up the shearing shed.”

“Leave me alone.”

She wanted to get Jamie away from Adam's ill humor, but in her undressed state dared not.

“You promised, you said...”

“Get out, boy, you hear me. Get out and damn well leave me alone.”

Jamie came rushing back, his eyes swimming in tears. “Adam's angry.”

“Don't cry. What about us taking a walk over to the hut? We could have a picnic. Maybe boil the billycan or make some damper.”

“Why is he angry?”

“He’s got a headache.” She was tempted to tell him that his hero now suffered the consequences of getting drunk last night, most likely in the company of his obnoxious friend.

As soon as Jamie left to see Mrs. Rogers about her breakfast and their picnic lunch, Tommy emptied the jug of water into the basin on her dresser, and took a wash. She put on a pink gown with a white rose pattern on it. As she put her hair up in its usual chignon, she grimaced at her reflection in the mirror. What a sight, drawn face and dark circles smudging the skin under her eyes.

Picking up a clean handkerchief and her white straw hat she started out of the room. Some urge beyond her control directed her feet towards the connecting door and she pushed it open. Adam lay on the bedclothes fully dressed. He hadn’t even bothered taking his boots off. He slept flat on his back, with one arm tucked under his head.

His cheeks, covered in black stubble, seemed hollowed, giving him an almost gaunt appearance. His eyelashes were long and thick, and she felt an overwhelming urge to rest her own white cheek against his tanned one. Shocked at the trend of her thoughts, she tiptoed out of the room.

In the kitchen, Jamie sat devouring bacon and eggs. The smell of the food made her feel nauseous again. She dashed outside onto the verandah. Could that be cloud banked up behind the mountains? If only it was.

Jamie, after finishing his second breakfast, rushed out to join her.

“Be a good boy and ask Mrs. Rogers to bring me out some tea and toast.”

If she went near the kitchen again she would be ill. The housekeeper came out within a short time bearing a tray set up with toast, tea and two small pots of apricot and plum jam. Jamie, still munching on a piece of toast, chattered away, telling Mrs. Rogers about the hut, and what Tommy planned on doing with it.

“Is Mr. Munro going too?”

“No, he's still asleep, had rather a late night.”

Mrs. Rogers pursed her lips. Tommy could not decide whether she disapproved of Adam staying out so late he could not rise in the morning, or her for planning an excursion without him.

As soon as they finished breakfast, she picked up the basket of food, and without returning to the bedroom left the homestead. At first Jamie objected to walking. “You either walk or stay behind.” Her tone of voice brooked no argument and he happily trotted along beside her.

Nothing stirred in the stillness. Time seemed to hang suspended like a broken pendulum. They were in April now so the weather was still sunny, although the fierce heat had gone. Still the rain did not come. Everything lay parched and dusty, without a vestige of green, except the ever-present gum trees.

No animals wandered the paddocks. Silence and death hung on the air like a funeral shroud. She could smell it, the stench of death, even if no bleaching bones or grotesque bloated carcasses lay around.

When they came to the river they walked across it. They scuffed their feet in the deep drifts of dead leaves, scooping up handfuls to throw at each other.

“This is fun, isn’t it?” Tommy laughed, feeling light-hearted, like a child freed from parental restraint.