Fiery Possession (24 page)

“This is lovely, thank you.”

He grinned at the praise. Over tea and cake, she found out why he hadn’t come to see them before. He had been working in a circus.

“Benny didn't like. They laughed at me.”

Poor thing, they must have used him as a sideshow freak. How could people be so cruel?

“They threw things at Benny. Mr. Campton saved me. Knocked some men down to get me.”

“Well, don't you worry any more, you’re back amongst friends, I'm glad Mr. Campton went out after you.”

Probably the only decent thing Luke's ever done, she thought bitterly.

Chapter Ten

As the weeks passed, Jo’s waistline started to thicken. Soon her condition would be noticeable. People had been treating her like a leper, but once the pregnancy became public knowledge, things would be a hundred times worse.

Their supplies became critically low, and they had no money left to replenish them.

“Fiona, I've been thinking.  No one would give me any work, but they might you. You're a respectable widow, while I'm a whore, carrying a rich man's bastard.”

“Jo!”  Fiona's pale cheeks lost even more color. “Don't be bitter, you're stronger, braver than any woman I know. You're worth two of those hypocrites. If only Kirkmans hadn't left, we would have had some support. If you watch Lucy, I'll go into town and ask around.”

“Laundry and sewing is all you'll get.” Jo grimaced. “It's better than nothing and I'll help. We can do everything in your name. Make sure you play the grieving widow with the hungry child to the fullest.”

She ignored Fiona's look of distaste. She was smart enough to realize this would be their only hope. When she thought of the teaching job she had given up to come out here and the thirty-five pounds a year it paid, she wanted to scream at the injustice of it all.

At least they owned the property free and clear now. They only needed to earn enough money to buy basic food items. Those combined with what they could produce should enable them to survive.

To cut down on expenses they didn’t use kerosene, but slush lamps made from containers half filled with clay, then topped up with mutton fat, with a piece of worsted material wrapped around a stick forming a wick. She hated the smelly, smoky things as much as Fiona did, but wouldn’t admit it. They stored their small supply of kerosene in case of an emergency.

She hitched the horse up to the buggy as Fiona could never manage to do it. No woman in my condition should have to do this.

“Good luck, Fiona.”

“Goodbye.”

Fiona wore a pale blue muslin gown with a matching bonnet. She could have been going out for a leisurely drive, rather than trying to find work.

I'm a fool. She struggled to chop wood for the stove. The top button on her breeches would not close now. Even a work shirt worn loosely could not conceal her condition.

Fiona appeared sweet and genteel. Perhaps it might have been better for her to wear black as a widow not yet out of mourning. Whatever she wore, Fiona would always bring out sympathetic instincts in people.

After only a few strokes of the axe, she had to rest because of fatigue. She didn’t want to overtax herself for the sake of her unborn baby. She felt fiercely protective towards it now.

“Don't worry, my darling.” She sat on the step and ran a palm across her stomach. “You'll never want for anything, I promise. No matter what I have to do.”

Lucy played in the dirt outside as Jo debated about what to prepare for dinner. Roast chicken would be nice. She stood up.  Better to get the killing over and done with before Fiona returned since she thought of the chickens as pets. It took a few minutes to catch a plump bird, another minute or so and the axe sliced through cleanly. She jumped back, watching with revulsion as the chicken ran around headless for a few seconds before dropping to the ground.

After plucking it, she gathered up the feathers and put them into a bag so they might be used to fill up a pillow later on.  Even though they sweltered in the summer heat, a roast was still appealing.

On checking the flour bin she found it almost empty. One more bake up would finish it off. They were low on tea and sugar as well. She had even experimented with making tea, using an old bush recipe. Roasting bread until it burned black then pouring hot water over it. It tasted vile. She shuddered in remembrance, but unless Fiona got work they would be reduced to drinking this until it too ran out. Someone told her when you boiled milk thistles they had a similar flavor to spinach, this and dandelion salad could be another option if they got desperate.

I won’t allow myself to sink into depression. I've wallowed in self-pity for long enough. Neither Luke nor the pious ladies of the town will break my spirit. This hiding and cringing is at an end. Tomorrow I'm going into town. I'll show everyone what Jo Saunders is made of.

Fiona came back with a pile of washing from the Bank Manager's wife, the idea being that when they returned one load they would receive the next. There was a huge pile of linen, a whole week’s wash by the looks of it.  They would light the copper tomorrow morning and boil up. In the cool of the evening, they would iron everything.

***

As the weeks passed, their business expanded. It didn’t take long for word to spread that they did a good job and charged reasonable prices. It proved to be hard, backbreaking toil and their hands became red and chaffed.

Fiona held out her fingers and wriggled them. “My nails are broken as well,” she complained. “No lady should have red, work roughened hands.”

“Well, I don’t care what our hands look like,” Jo said unsympathetically. “As long as the money keeps rolling in.”

They did sewing in the evenings as well now. The fine embroidery made Jo’s eyes ache because of the poor lighting, but doggedly she persisted because it brought in extra money. She let the farm work go, except for the necessities that kept the place going.

No rain. Not even a drop fell from the sky. Each day Jo scanned the horizon for clouds, but the sky, so blue it hurt her eyes, remained empty. The creek level had fallen so rapidly she was reduced to lugging pails of water. Sweat ran down her arms, pooling on her hands and causing blisters which added to her discomfort.

“Fiona, tomorrow we're going into town.” Jo fanned herself with her hat. “We'll take the day off. I haven't left the place for weeks.”

“Do you think, what I mean is…”

“I'm five months pregnant and showing?”

“Yes, you know how horrid people can be.”

“I know.  They treat me like a leper, but I'm beyond caring what they think now.”  It was a lie, she cared desperately, but pride would not allow her to admit it even to Fiona.

“Don't worry, I won't wear this old thing.”  She glanced down at the faded cotton gown stretching tautly across her stomach. “I've let the seams out on two of my gowns so they look quite respectable.”

Jo dressed with care for her trip into town. She brushed her hair until it shone as brightly as a new penny, and though her eyes were shadowed, they stood out green as jade. Because she always took care of her skin, it had not burned to that brick red color so common amongst women who continually worked in the open.

Being tall and slim, the green muslin gown with white lace trimming on the bodice still looked well. Fiona and Lucy wore pale pink.

“We're a handsome family,” Jo declared as they drove away from the homestead, “even if I say so myself.”

Lucy prattled away. Jo kept glancing at Fiona who became more and more agitated, twisting and untwisting her handkerchief.

“Let's not go into town today.” Fiona tugged at Jo’s hand.

“Why not?”

“Please, I've got this awful feeling.”

“Honestly, you and your feelings, you worry too much. I haven't been out for weeks. We'll drop the laundry off before doing our shopping. We’ll get some sweeties for you.”  Jo ruffled Lucy's curls. “I want the smithy to check the horse. It seems to get lame on and off, could be a loose shoe.”

They passed several other families on their way into town, but received no cheery greeting as they would have a few months ago. Why did people have to act so small-minded and petty?

The Bank Manager resided in a red brick house on the edge of town. At her insistence, Fiona took the laundry back and returned almost staggering under the weight of another full basket. How anyone could have so much laundry was beyond comprehension. Of course, Mr. Griffith was so fastidious and clothes conscious. Two more calls, two more basketfuls.

“We never lose a customer, stop worrying.”  She grinned at Fiona.

They left the buggy in the main street, opposite the general store. As they crossed the road, Luke drove past with Cassandra sitting next to him, sheltering her delicate English complexion under a pretty silk umbrella.

The girl waved. In the few seconds it took for them to pass by, Luke's eyes swept Jo from head to toe.  She threw her head back proudly. On pain of death, she would never let him see how humiliated she felt.

While Fiona went to the general store, she made for the blacksmith. The smithy dropped a terrible oath as he shaped some red-hot iron, but it was not this that caused her steps to falter and her heart to race. Rather, it was the sight of Luke engaged in conversation with him.

“Good morning, Mr. Johnson.” Both men raised their heads when she spoke.

“Miss Saunders, how are you?”  The smithy acknowledged her greeting with a broad grin.

Ignoring Luke, whose lips tightened at the snub, Jo smiled at the big man. “Would you mind checking our mare?  She seems to go lame every so often.”

“You know Mr. Campton?” the smith asked.

“Yes, unfortunately I do.”

“Miss Saunders.” 

Luke's emphasis on her unmarried state sent hot color flying into her cheeks. She stared him straight in the face and shivered at the sheer savagery blazing in his eyes. He hadn't changed much, except for the grooves etched deeper on his face. His lips were drawn into thin bitter lines. He did not act like a happy, newly married man, quite the reverse, in fact. So, why had he married Cassandra?

“I'll go across and collect the horse for you, Smithy,” Jo said.

“Don’t trouble yourself, I’ll get it.”

“Thanks, I left her opposite the general store.”

“I know your brother's mare, I shod her before.  Let me finish this off.”  A couple more bangs and the shape was apparently to his liking.

“How are your two boys getting on?” she asked.

“Fair enough, but they miss going to school.”  He chuckled. “I can't get much work out of those lazy young devils.”

After the smithy left them, neither Jo nor Luke spoke until an imp of mischief prompted her to comment. “I suppose I should congratulate you on your marriage.  Your wife's rather on the young side, though.”

“Watch your mouth.”

“Aren't you going to ask me how I'm keeping?”

“Your health is of no interest to me,” he growled.

“It should be,” she shot back. His indifference hurt more than she cared to admit. “You seem to forget I'm carrying your child.”

“I've forgotten nothing,” he replied in a gravel rough voice.

“Don't you care what happens to it?”

“No,” Luke lied, as he turned away so she wouldn’t read the anguish that must show in his eyes. If she had told him the truth, they would have been married by now. Even if she hadn’t been with child, he would have married her. Dear God, if only he hadn’t lost his temper and stormed off to Melbourne.

“You despicable bastard.”

Her angry abuse stopped him in his tracks. As he swung around, cold bitter fury and guilt surged through him.

“My parents were married. You're the one carrying the bastard.”

The sheer brutality of him made her shudder. Tears sprung to her eyes, but he could not see them because he strode away, his back rigid with anger.

By the time the smithy returned, she convinced herself her emotions were under control again.

“It won’t take me long, Miss Saunders. You go off and do your shopping.”  He stared at her intently for a moment and she wondered whether she looked as bad as she felt. Luke's harshness had shaken her.

“Don't worry about coming back,” the smithy said. “I'll hitch the horse up for you, and Miss Saunders.”

“Yes.”

“If I can ever be of assistance, you only have to ask.”  He mopped his brow with his arm. “You treated my boys well and I won't forget.”

“Thank you. I haven't seen Benny today.”

“He’s gone to Wangaratta to pick up some special drugs for the doctor.”

She turned and trudged back to the general store.

Fiona rushed up to greet her. “There’s a new tea room opened up, let’s try it.”

“All right.” At this very moment she was incapable of arguing that they couldn’t afford such extravagance. Fiona chatted away; being in town certainly lifted her depression. A few people greeted her, addressing her as Mrs. Morrison. They ignored Jo, who held her head at a proud angle and stared straight ahead. None of them would ever know what it cost her to walk down the street pretending their snubs did not hurt.