The Untold (10 page)

T
hey moved like apparitions, shifting in swathes of red in the distance.

Jessie pulled up her horse. There was a woman, her skirt draped over her arm in a bundle, and a man wearing a jacket with tails that flew out as he walked. He was twice the width of the woman, even with her carrying the bundle.

Jessie was twelve years old. By then she cared for nothing, nothing but pushing her lean body to the limits of itself, climbing higher and higher trees and riding recklessly. Every day Jessie launched herself onto her horse and tore across the paddock at breakneck speed. And when she was bored of charging back and forth, she'd flip herself around to ride seated backwards or push the horse to clear a fence and then turn it sharply to clear the fence again, zigzagging a course. She did not care for style or form, as long as she felt the air passing through her.

One day she rode the horse right up to the fence and, just before it jumped, she flipped her legs up along its back, as if she were flying.

They saw her.

Jessie regarded them from her horse but she did not ride towards them. She sat watching as they walked, as the details of their forms became clearer. The sun caught the gold threads of the man's jacket and he glimmered in patches. Jessie shielded her eyes from the glare of it. The woman wore a headdress, though it might have
been hair piled up on her head, with flowers and combs and feathers poking out of it.

Dear girl
, called the woman, waving a lace handkerchief above her head. She was striding now, almost running towards Jessie.

My dear girl, we saw you riding. We're on our way out of town, but we had to stop and ask you . . .

The woman was near out of breath. Her cheeks were pink and her hair dripped in ringlets around her high forehead.

Ask me what?
said Jessie.

Your name, darling girl. Your name and the age of you.

Jessie swung down from her horse and stood in front of them.
Why do you wanna know?

Jessie was aware that her own hair hung around her shoulders in knots. She was barefoot and the clothes she wore were her brothers' castoffs.

Where is your mother
? asked the woman
.

Jessie pointed to the rusted roof of the house at the edge of the paddock.
She's over there.

Through the kitchen window Aoife saw the couple and Jessie leading her horse beside them. The woman looked dazzling to Aoife and she was made even more dazzling in contrast to the neglected lawn and house. She slipped behind the cupboard to wet her lips, pinch her cheeks and push up the messy tendrils of her hair.

Hello
, the woman called through the door.
Are you Jessie's mother?

Who's asking?
said Aoife, going out to meet them.
What's she done now?

I am Miss Spangellotti and this is Mirkus
, said the woman.
And we have had the good fortune of meeting your daughter.

What could be fortunate about that?
said Aoife.

We are forming a circus and we think your daughter could be one of our star performers
, said Mirkus.

Jessie saw Aoife's eyes narrow.

Of course
, said Mirkus,
we will offer you some compensation for the absence of your daughter.

To make up for your loss
, added Miss Spangellotti.

You know she is worth a lot to me
, said Aoife.

If Aoife had asked any questions other than
How much for my daughter?
she might have discovered that Miss Spangellotti and Mirkus were both German and they were determined to tour Mingling Bros. Circus of the World to every city and town in Australia. But she did not care to know where her wild daughter was headed.

That afternoon, Jessie hugged her little brother but not her mother and she climbed into the back of the high-wheeled wagon. There was no one else to say good-bye to. Her older brothers and sister had already left home and were working in the city, her brothers as blacksmiths and her sister as a domestic. Aoife walked out to the front of the house holding her youngest son by the hand but he broke away and ran after the wagon.

Jessie waved to him and she thought to yell
Go home,
but she did not because they did not seem to be the right words to say. The dust from the road soon enveloped him and soon she was numb to all feeling.

O
n the edge of Fitz's forest Jack Brown unsaddled his horse, unstrung his swag and saddlebag and threw it all down. There was just enough light to pass them through the forest but Jack Brown convinced Barlow they did not want to arrive at Fitz's in the half dark and have to camp there all night among the unbroken horses and frightened cattle. It was easy to persuade Barlow. By the end of the day he was flopping around in his saddle and Jack Brown could see the circles under his eyes had grown darker over their ride.

Jack Brown was in a sour mood. He felt it coming on as they approached the forest. He had compromised himself, and the forest and all it contained reminded him of that. Cobbling together half-truths and worrying more for his own neck than anybody else's were not the actions of the man he had supposed himself to be. Why should he have to win his freedom with lies? And if he could actually confess it, what would the truth be anyway?
Sergeant, for three years I have been rustling horses and cattle for Fitzgerald Henry alongside his wife and over that time I came to love her, or at least I believed I did. Fitz was a brute and I did not have the courage to stand up to him and when finally I did have the courage the man was dead.

Fitz had died by Jessie's hand, Jack Brown knew it. By escaping and leaving Jack Brown to find the body, Jessie had made him a suspect. And he knew now they were in the worst kind of bind. Their freedom was in competition.

Jack Brown tied up his horse and began to brush it down. As he
did he watched Barlow out of the corner of his eye. Barlow was floating around the campsite with his jacket over his arm. He picked up a fallen branch and stuck the end of it in the dirt and then hung his jacket over it. He continued undressing, removing his shirt and boots, and unrolled his swag. Then with a great sweep he brought his arms up over his head, circled them down, pressed his hands to his feet and began breathing like Jack Brown had never heard a man breathe.

The sight of him made Jack Brown more uneasy than he already felt. Jack Brown believed he could tell a lot about a man by the way he handled his horse and how he held himself in the saddle, and after observing him over the course of the day, Jack Brown thought Barlow was plainly odd.

Jack Brown distracted himself by gathering up kindling and wood, and when he returned to the camp Barlow was leaning up against his own saddle on his swag, sipping whiskey from a cup. There was no fire and he had made no preparations for dinner. He offered a cup of whiskey to Jack Brown but Jack Brown refused it. An unskinned rabbit lay near Barlow's boots, a rabbit that Jack Brown had shot some miles back. He found himself freshly annoyed to see Barlow already reclining.

Ever skinned a rabbit, Sergeant?
said Jack Brown.

Neither skinned one nor eaten one
, said Barlow as he took a slurping sip
. This will be my first.

Oh no, Sergeant,
said Jack Brown,
this is my dinner. I'm wondering what you're having for yours.

Barlow raised his cup.
You've got a good humor, Jack Brown.

What about a fire, Sergeant?
said Jack Brown
. You ever built one
of those?
Jack Brown squatted down and began stacking small sticks and leaves.

There's the first star
, said Barlow, ignoring Jack Brown's question.

Jack Brown did not need to see the first star and he ignored Barlow right back, bringing his attention to building the fire. He lit the kindling and blew on it till it flared up. He broke some of the longer branches against his knee and fed them into the fire. He felt a tinge of pleasure when the wind picked up and blew smoke into Barlow's face and Barlow groped for his shirt to shield himself from it.

When the fire was blazing, Jack Brown sat himself on the ground cross-legged to skin the rabbit.

Is that good eating, Jack Brown?
Barlow peered out over his shirt.

You'll see
, said Jack Brown. He took out his knife and, stretching out the rabbit, he cut a neat seam through the middle of it.

Barlow moved in closer to watch him.

Sorry, Sergeant,
said Jack Brown,
but you're blocking all my light.
He thought, second only to regret, there must be no heavier load than riding with a man with no bush skills at all.

When the rabbit was skinned, Jack Brown held it up to the fire and the fire lit up its bones and translucent skin. He rested it on a rock and twisted a piece of fence wire into two brackets. He flattened out another piece between his palms and threaded it through the rabbit and then he pushed his boot into the burning branches, slung the rabbit between the brackets and kicked at the coals till the wind swelled their flames, and then he sat himself down.

How long have you been working for Fitzgerald Henry?
asked Barlow.

Fitz? About three years in all.

Does he pay you well?

Sometimes he does and sometimes not at all.
Jack Brown leaned towards the fire and caught some drips of fat from the rabbit in a bowl.

What keeps you there?

Jack Brown was glad to have something to do while he was being questioned, to prevent him from fidgeting and giving himself away.
He took a tin of flour from his saddlebag and added it to the bowl and mixed in enough water to make dough.

Hard to say, Sergeant. When Fitz pays me, he pays me well.

Does he owe you?

Yes, he does
.

The rabbit hissed on the wire and Jack Brown buried the dough in a bowl at the edge of the fire.

I've been watching you today, Jack Brown.

Oh yeah?

You're a good rider
, said Barlow
.

I don't know about that, Sergeant, but what I do know is that in the saddle you've got a style all of your own.

Barlow laughed but Jack Brown could not even force one. He felt only tiredness and hunger. Barlow poured Jack Brown a whiskey and this time Jack Brown did not resist it. He threw it back and it livened up his throat.

What does the wife look like?
asked Barlow.

Depends on who you ask.

I'm asking you. But I can ask around.

Well, Sergeant, that there is a tricky question. She is the boss's wife, after all. So for that one you'll have to ask around.

When Jack Brown tried to cut the rabbit, he found the bones were so fine and there were so many of them it was not worth cutting. They ate from the same plate, a dented lid from a pot, and picked off the flesh from the rabbit, which was tender enough, sucked the meat from the bones and then threw the bones back into the fire. The damper had risen to a golden lump and they washed it all down with more whiskey.

When there was nothing left on the plate, the two men sat in silence. It was the kind of night when Jack Brown felt the whole world shrinking around him so there was only what was lit up by the fire. Soon Barlow was nodding into his cup and Jack Brown thought to stand to wake him but his own legs felt drunk. He could only get to his knees. So it was on his knees he decided to build up the fire. When it was licking at Barlow's feet and Barlow still had not stirred, Jack Brown yelled,
Barlow! You'd be best to get into that swag of yours if you prize your balls and don't want 'em to be singed by the fire.

Barlow shuffled himself into his swag. He said,
Good night, Jack Brown
,
and the sound of his voice made Jack Brown feel sober.

Jack Brown turned in to his own swag and lay on his side and watched the fire spark up against the darkness and light up the trees beyond it. He tried to think only of trees, tree after tree, scattered, in lines, just trees. But then Jessie was there, always there, stepping out from behind them.

What did she look like? How could he ever describe her without revealing himself? He could not say,
I have stared at her face across so many campfires, on so many rides. At a distance, it's a face that looks fierce with its sharp jaw and dark eyes given over to the
horizon. But when you are standing close to her, and her eyes are on you, you feel that she can see what's inside you and she's smiling so you know she likes what she sees.

How could he say,
I have known no better feeling
.

Jack Brown rolled onto his back and the world of the fire opened up as he looked above him. Patterns of stars seemed to orbit one another, dust orbiting dust. He closed his eyes against them and he saw the stars falling behind his eyes. He followed the stars into dark, shimmering pools and he found that the shimmering pools had no end.

W
HEN
J
ACK
B
ROWN WOKE,
Barlow was sitting near the fire making tea. He had the look of just being washed. His hair was combed flat to his head and his face was smooth and freshly shaven, which made the hollows under his eyes look darker.

Sleep tight, Sergeant?
asked Jack Brown.

Not a wink
, said Barlow.

Ground not good enough for you?
said Jack Brown as he stood up and shook his swag.

It's the cold, Jack Brown. Gets right into my back.

You got a bad back, Sarge?

I took a fall when I was a kid.

Well, let's get you back on the horse before you jam right up and I have to carry you out of here.

As they rode into the forest the mass of the trees glistened with dew above them. They looked to Jack Brown like giant pools in the air and he did not know how they held together and how it did not all rain upon him.