Heart of the Country (32 page)

“No.” It was of no concern to him what she called it. “Henry James will do.”

The baby stirred in his arms, opened its small brown eyes, then grimaced and let out a wail. Septimus stiffened and Harriet took the screaming bundle from him.

“Let me settle him,” she said. She nodded to the food set out on the table. “You eat. I've only got bread and pickles for supper, but I've put some fruit scones in the oven. They'll be ready for you to have with a cup of tea later.”

She made shushing noises and carried the baby into the bedroom, where she shut the door.

Septimus picked at the food. He didn't feel like eating, he wanted to bed his wife. By the time she came back and slipped the baby into its bed he was desperate to have her.

“It's been hard work since Henry was born,” Harriet said.

He watched her while she removed the scones from the oven. Not even the tempting smell could sway him.

“I've needed help.” She paused and tucked a cloth around the hot scones. “There's a local girl … a native.”

Septimus didn't want to hear about Harriet's troubles, he just wanted to bed her. He lurched from his chair and in a stride he was beside her. He scooped her up. The surprise on Harriet's face was quickly replaced by her knowing smile. Without a word, he carried her to their bed.

Septimus rolled over without opening his sleep-crusted eyes. He felt the warmth of Harriet's soft body beside him. The night before he'd been too tired for more than a quick coupling with her. With the morning he felt more refreshed. They could take their time. Just the thought of it aroused him. Then he would eat. He had an appetite large enough to consume a horse after the slim pickings she'd set out for him on his arrival.

There was a sucking sound beside him. He opened his eyes and pushed away in horror. There, right beside him, the elf was attached to Harriet's breast, sucking in the way Septimus had just imagined he would be. He looked at Harriet, lying against the pillow, her eyes closed, dark shadows below them in her pale skin. She looked exhausted, but her lips were turned up in a small smile.

Septimus climbed out of the bed and pulled on his pants. He had been the only one to have her body and now he was sharing it with a baby. The thought repulsed him. The brat had taken what was his. He felt sick to his stomach.

In the kitchen he ate some of the cold fruit scones. He couldn't sit for long. Anger burned inside him, along with unfulfilled need. He went outside. Below him the trees that dotted the creek line were perfectly still. No breeze today. He would go and inspect the property. That would take his mind off what ailed him. He would have to make haste to Adelaide again soon to finalise the deal he'd made with Smith. In the meantime he'd check the few sheep left alive after Bull's departure. Hopefully Harriet had managed to keep her eye on things.

Harriet. He shook his head and made his way towards the creek. He would wash away the smell of her from his skin and perhaps the cold water would ease his need for her.

His steps slowed at the sound of a splash. He edged up behind a large tree that grew close to the creek. There was another splash. He peered around the trunk. His eyes opened wide at the sight of a young black woman, totally naked. She was stooped in the water with her back to him and she was filling a water bucket. Septimus stared. It had to be his water bucket but what would this native be doing with it?

Dark wavy hair fell to her shoulders and her black skin gleamed in the sunlight slanting through the trees. As she turned he pressed back behind the tree. He studied the surroundings either side of him. She appeared to be alone.

There was a thud on the other side of the tree. Septimus risked a look. The bucket was on the bank and the girl was squatting in the creek further downstream, splashing water over herself with the carefree abandon of a child. Then he saw a dress hanging over a nearby branch. Harriet's old dress. What had Harriet said the previous night? Something about needing help and a native girl.

Anger rose inside him. How could she allow a savage to …? His mind went numb as the girl rose and turned. She was young, perhaps the age Harriet had been when he'd first taken her. This girl had plump full breasts, and a body ripe for the plucking.

She moved to the edge of the creek then looked up and saw him. Fear filled her face and she stepped back into the creek.

He put up a hand. “Don't be afraid,” he soothed and eased himself around the tree. “I am your master.” He pointed towards the house. “Mrs Wiltshire's husband.”

The girl continued to stare at him wide eyed. She took a tiny step backwards.

Septimus moved carefully forward. “Baby Henry's father.”

“Henry,” she repeated. He saw the hesitation cross her face.

“That's right, Henry.” He moved closer.

She took another step and lost her footing. She tumbled backwards into the water. Septimus pounced on her. As her face surfaced she opened her mouth. He tried to cover it but she didn't scream, she just looked at him with big frightened eyes.

“Don't be afraid.” He took her hand and helped her up, barely able to take his eyes from her breasts, supple and glistening as water dripped from them.

He led her to the bank. “I am your master.” He pointed to the hut. “You can help Mrs Wiltshire in the house.”

“Henry,” the girl whispered. She tried to take her hand from his grip.

“Yes.” He nodded and gently moved a lock of thick wet hair from her face then traced a finger around her face and under her chin “You can look after Henry in the house.”

He backed her towards the tree. He could see her eyes brimming with tears but still she didn't cry out.

“Don't be afraid,” he murmured as he pressed her to the tree. He nuzzled at her neck and gently brushed his hand over one breast. He looked up at her gasp and he smiled. “And out here you can look after your master.” He used a low, sing-song voice. “It will be our little secret.”

He plucked her dress from the branch with one hand and continued to stroke her with the other. Then he tossed the dress at his feet and tenderly lowered her to it. He caressed her with his lips and stroked her with his fingers until she was squirming with desire and then he took her. His delight heightened by the slight resistance and her small gasp as he slid inside her.

Ah yes, if he couldn't have Harriet there was another unsullied body he could enjoy.

1851

“You can't take a young infant on such a long journey in the heat of summer.” Anne Smith looked from Lizzie to the baby she cradled in her arms and back to Thomas. “Can't you wait until everything is finalised and you've built a proper house?”

“We will be fine, Mother. We won't travel in the heat of the day,” Lizzie said. “Anyway it will be autumn next week. I'd rather make our way there in heat than in rain. I need to look after our new place while Thomas and my brothers get the stock.”

“You'll be there alone.” Anne shook her head. “It isn't right.”

“Gulda will be with me. There will be little to do until the men return with the sheep.” Lizzie smiled at her mother and handed over the baby. “Hold Annie for me while I check I've packed everything.”

Thomas groaned. “We can't fit another thing,” he called after her as she left the verandah.

She threw a grin over her shoulder then crossed the dirt to where Wick was putting the last of the boxes into the wagon. He looked up as Lizzie began to give him instructions on where best to squeeze the box he held in his hands. He listened then followed her directions. How wise he's become, thought Thomas. He'd be sad to say goodbye but he knew Wick would continue to look after Penakie well.

Behind the wagon was the small dray pulled by Derriere. It was also loaded to the brim. Perched on top was a cage with chickens and containers of carefully dug plants for Lizzie's new vegetable garden. Attached to that was their cow. Thomas had already taken tools and equipment when he went north to map out the property he was calling Wildu Creek. He was moving there with many more worldly goods than he'd arrived on Penakie with – and now he had a wife and daughter as well. It was a pity he no longer had his trunk. Lizzie would have liked some of his mother's things. He frowned. It was a long time since he'd given any thought to Seth Whitby and the items he'd stolen.

“She's still so small,” Mrs Smith murmured.

He swung back to the present and smiled at his mother-in-law gazing at the yawning bundle in her arms.

“We have to go now or we'll miss out on the opportunity,” he said.

Anne raised her eyes to his. Thomas saw a glimmer of hope as she spoke. “You can't let your wife and baby live in a makeshift hut alone. Lizzie and Annie could stay with us until you get back with the sheep. George and I would be happy to accompany her later. We want to see where you and the boys have taken up your runs.”

“We've been over this many times already.”

“Annie's still so tiny. It will take her a while to recover from being born too early.”

“She's gone three months and thriving.” He looked at his baby with pride. She had surprised them by arriving ahead of her time but even though she was small, she was perfect and feeding well. “Lizzie is a wonderful mother.”

“You're her husband, Thomas. Tell her she must stay.”

He shook his head. “I tried in the beginning but she wants this new land as much as I do and it will indeed be much better if someone is there while we get the stock.”

“Leave Thomas alone, Anne.” George had rounded the corner of the hut on silent feet. He stepped up onto the verandah and looked over his wife's shoulder at his tiny granddaughter. “The decision has been made,” he said gently. “You know our Lizzie. Once she's set her mind on something there's no changing it.”

They all looked up at the sound of another wagon and horses. “Here are the boys,” George said.

Jacob rode his horse and Isaac drove their bullock wagon. Altogether they were quite a collection of animals and carts.

“Time for you to set off.” George shook Thomas's hand. “Good luck.”

Thomas turned to Anne. She gave the baby one last kiss and carefully handed her into his arms.

“Look after them, Thomas,” she said.

Doubt wormed in his belly but he pushed it away. “I will.”

Lizzie rushed across to give her parents final hugs and kisses and took the baby from him. He shook Wick's hand.

“Good luck,” Wick said.

Thomas stepped back. He cast one more look at the hut that had been his home for four years. His gaze shifted up the slope beyond the hut, where the shearing shed and yards nestled into the hill. It was Wick's domain now. He turned his back and, with a roll of his shoulders, he climbed aboard the wagon beside Lizzie. He cracked the whip above the bullocks, unleashing a chorus of goodbyes that mingled with the rumble of wheels, the squawk of chickens, the moo of the cow and the jangle of her bell. Beside him, Annie began to cry and Lizzie quickly silenced her with a breast.

Thomas stared ahead and just as he turned to take one more look, his wife patted his leg. He gazed into pretty blue eyes that always shone for him.

“No looking back,” she said.

“No looking back,” he agreed.

They did have to stop not far along the track once the house was out of sight, when Gulda emerged from the bushes. He grinned at Thomas then climbed onto the cart they'd been leading behind the dray. The native who had become his friend had also accepted Jacob and Isaac could be trusted, though Thomas knew he still wasn't sure of George and his other two sons. Once more Thomas cracked the whip and the dray lurched forward. Now they were truly on their way.

The sun beat down on them, reflecting off leaf and rock. Thomas had no idea if this was usual weather for autumn but their new property was much warmer than Penakie. They'd been rumbling across it for half a day now. Jacob and Isaac had left them that morning to veer further west to the run they were claiming. Full of high spirits, they'd arranged to meet again in a few days to head south for their stock.

For the moment it was just Thomas, Lizzie and the baby. Gulda had hitched the horse and cart to the back of the dray again, and promised to return when they reached the hut. The wheels hit a rut and Lizzie pressed harder against him. Thomas tried to shift his arm. It was stiff and losing feeling after hours of supporting her sleeping weight. The journey had been long and arduous and the last few nights Annie had woken often. Lizzie had only been able to silence her by offering her breast.

He had felt his tired wife's head nod against him not long after they had set out on the last stretch that morning. He'd pulled her in close to stop her sliding from the dray and supported her head in the crook of his shoulder. Annie slept in her little box cradle wedged in the dray behind them.

Now they were following a creek that wound its way through low hills to the site he'd chosen for their home. The small wood-and-canvas hut he'd hastily thrown together on his previous trip was just visible through the trees.

“Lizzie,” he said softly.

She stirred under his arm and lifted her sleep-reddened face to his, blinking tired eyes.

“We're nearly there.” He nodded ahead. “This is Wildu Creek.”

Lizzie peeped behind her at the sleeping baby then sat up straight, staring ahead. He hoped she would see the promise of the future that he had seen on his first journey here. The hut sat on a plateau that stretched across the base of low hills. The hills in turn gave way to steep gullies, and ridges of red and brown rock dotted with the greys and greens of bush and trees. It was somewhere up there that Gulda had taken him, with Jacob, to the cave, and where Thomas had looked out over this valley and the wide plain that would support as many sheep as he could drove there to the next mountain range.